


Charmed

by epcot97



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Angst, Drama & Romance, Endgame Lukanette, F/M, Love, Luka Couffaine Loves Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26244673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epcot97/pseuds/epcot97
Summary: After years of toiling in the music industry, traveling hundreds of miles across Europe in the process, the successful launch of his solo career is a huge milestone for Luka Couffaine; as the accolades pour in, though, he wonders if the personal cost might be higher than he realized.  For without one woman in particular in his life, he finds the rest of it pretty much just one empty achievement after another that comes nowhere near filling the hole in his heart.  Suspecting strongly that time is running out, Luka hurries back to Paris to fulfill another obligation altogether – while hoping to have one last chance to make things right.Back in Paris, Marinette Dupain-Cheng has it all, finally: her small but agile design studio has gone head-to-head with the best and become a top-tier competitor in its own right.  But the one thing she assumed she’d have forever seems to be receding from her reach; as hard as it is to accept, she decides to move on from the man she thought loved her and go it alone.  And as Ladybug, Guardian of the Miraculous, she is feeling very, very much alone.
Relationships: Luka Couffaine & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 159
Kudos: 195





	1. Hard Stop

It had been far, far too long since he’d seen her, but the business of a band didn’t tend to keep regular banker’s - or was that baker’s? - hours. And it had forced him to travel far afield of Paris for weeks at a time, something that could easily stretch the flexibility of even the strongest of relationships. Pressing his forehead against the cold glass of the window, Luka closed his eyes and hoped – prayed, perhaps – that he’d not stayed away too long this time. For as close and connected as he felt he had been with Marinette, it was clear from their last FaceTime together that he might have made one trip too many.

His eyes watched as the edges of Paris finally pulled into view, silently thankful he’d saved up enough to get himself on the first bullet train back from Madrid. He’d left the rest of his band behind in the capable hands of their manager, intent on returning to the city and the woman he loved. Slowly banging his head against the window, he beat himself up one last time for taking the gig in Spain; Jagged had convinced him it was the best option for his newly-minted solo career, though it had gone against every instinct to accept. For even a few weeks earlier, he could feel the chill that had descended between them.

Had he placed his career above his love for the woman he’d purported to do anything for? If he had, it was a mistake he hoped he could undo just as easily as Second Chance could rewind time. Sliding his sleeve up, he stared at the bracelet, still awed by both the power it represented and the deep trust the person who had bestowed it upon him clearly felt. Guilt washed over him again, for he’d tried to give it back to Ladybug the  _ first _ time music had sent him from Paris; she’d confidently told him he’d be back, and she’d been waiting. He had, and she had – though each succeeding time, her smile welcoming him back had become a bit more practiced, her ease at his reappearance, less. Much like Marinette, in not so many words Ladybug had told him how she felt about his increasingly lengthy disappearances.

If Luka were being honest, by rights he should have passed the Snake Miraculous on to someone else long ago; some part of his heart, though, was reluctant to give up that singular connection he had to Ladybug, and the excuse it provided him to hurry back to Paris and be with Marinette. And yet, he’d not been much of a teammate as of late, had he? One more thing for the guilt train he was riding.

His musings were cut short when the train suddenly lurched sideways, throwing him out of his seat and into the aisle; before he could get his bearings, it came to an abrupt stop, causing him to tumble toward the forward part of the compartment. Despite years of being a superhero making him far more limber and nimbler than most, he still wound up smashing his head into the bulkhead, hard; semi-dazed, he had enough presence of mind to protectively fling up his arms to help soften the landing for the two other passengers who landed on top of him. As the lights flickered and then died, plunging the car into semi-darkness, moans from the injured began to fill the air. 

Ignoring the throbbing in his head and what also appeared to be a sprained wrist, he gingerly began pushing himself up, checking the other passengers that had landed with him in a heap as he did so; as he tried to stand, he realized the car itself appeared tipped forward at a forty-five degree angle. The smell of shorting electrical equipment began to fill the air, and he knew in a flash he could provide more help transformed.

Frantically he blinked back the double-vision from his aching head and fruitlessly looked for some way to hide long enough to become Viperion, cursing slightly that the restrooms were at the  _ other _ end of the car. As the seconds ticked away and the acrid odor of smoldering plastic became nearly too much to bear, he managed to clear a path to the vestibule door and tried to pull it open. It moved a fraction of a meter, the jamb clearly twisted; exiting that way wasn’t happening. Billowing smoke had begun to issue through the ventilation system, telling him the fire was likely in the electronics running along the roof. Spurred on by the density, he began to push his fellow passengers toward the middle of the car and where he  _ thought _ he remembered seeing emergency exit placards.

The dim emergency lights were quickly overwhelmed by the smoke, and he put a hand to his face, trying to keep from breathing the ash. Each breath felt like inhaling needles, and he fought the urge to cough. Most of his fellow passengers were simply as bruised as he was, but when he located the windows in question, a young woman blocked his path and was howling in pain where she lay in the aisle, her ankle at a nauseating angle. Setting his expression, he leaned down. “This is going to hurt,” he said as he stifled a cough and ignored the shooting pain from his injured wrist as he snaked his arms beneath her, “but I need to get you to safety. Close your eyes and trust me.”

Nearly hyperventilating, the woman nonetheless nodded, and squeezed her eyes shut. He waited a fraction of a moment and then lifted her, trying to shut down his ears at the shriek of pain as her ankle moved; stumbling slightly against the inclined walkway, he slid sideways across the seats and gently put her down in the angled seat – or, at least he  _ hoped _ it was the seat, for the smoke was suffocatingly dense now, making it nearly impossible to see.

Turning to the window, he pressed his hands to the smooth glass and ran them up and then sideways, locating by feel the emergency handle; without hesitation, he yanked it down, and was rewarded with the glass falling out and fresh air rushing in. As he bent down to pick up the young woman once again, he heard and then felt another gust of air as someone repeated the same operation on the far side of the car; the thick clouds cleared slightly, enough that he was able to see a familiar set of glowing green feline eyes framed by what was left of the window.

“Chat!” he called out. “Over here!”

One leap and the feline superhero was beside him; without saying a word, he took the woman from Luka and cleanly vaulted out the window. Luka had barely enough time to process how quickly Chat had vanished before he felt an arm around his own waist. A moment later, he found himself sailing across the early evening and being gently lowered to the grassy berm beside what was left of the bullet train.

Coughing freely now, and feeling like he was going to puke the light dinner he’d had, Luka looked up through streaming eyes at the intense masked blue ones that were looking him over critically. “Are you all right?” Ladybug asked. 

“Just a bit of smoke,” Luka croaked. “What happened?”

“Akuma,” Ladybug replied succinctly, her worried eyes shifting to look back at the train. 

The message was implicit, and Luka stifled another cough just as she turned back. “I’ll transform,” he said simply, and started to haul himself over the edge of the knoll for a little more privacy.

A hand to his arm paused him. “Are you sure?” Ladybug asked quickly. “You might be injured---”

“I’m fine,” Luka said to one of the two Ladybugs of his double vision. Smiling the crooked smile he knew she liked, he added, “Just give me a moment to catch my breath.”

“Okay,” she said, though he knew she was torn. Clearly the akuma was all that and then some; but she was also genuinely worried about her team member. She waited another moment and then threw her yo-yo into the air, swiftly heading back into the smoke and flames of the crash.

Luka waited until she was far enough away to slump back on the grass. Sass floated up to his face as he stared at the gathering darkness. “Are you ssssure you want to do this?” the tiny snake-themed kwami asked. “A little resssst might be in order—”

Shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut at the migraine, Luka didn’t want to argue with his normally companionable tiny god. “Ladybug needs me,” he said quietly. 

“Luka---”

“Sass – scales slither!”

The wave of transformation washed over him, silencing his kwami’s objections; as Viperion attempted to stand up, his vision swam again and he knew right away the Miraculous magic wouldn’t mask his injuries. Setting his jaw, though, he was determined to help Ladybug, and gritted his teeth against the pain as he leapt into the fray, for there was no way he was going to let her down.

Not like Marinette.


	2. Shattered

Ladybug was rattled. 

Seeing Luka on the train had been completely unexpected; from their last conversation, it had sounded like his tour would keep him away from Paris — away from _her_ — for the better part of the summer. It had seemed like the final death knell to a relationship she’d had such high hopes for, and she’d taken it as a sign to begin shutting down that part of her soul. 

It had been three weeks since Luka had once more tried to return his Miraculous to Ladybug; she had nearly accepted it - had been on the verge, perhaps, a time or two before - but even just three weeks earlier, she’d held out _some_ sort of hope that he’d be back. As the days had dragged on, and the oppressive summer heat had enveloped the city, it had felt as though it had also been squeezing the last of her love for him from her heart.

That is, until she’d seen those amazing eyes and that distinctive mop top emerge from the hazy gauze of smoke. Typical Luka, in the middle of the crisis working to get civilians to safety. He didn’t need the green-and-yellow contours of his supersuit to do what came naturally to him; shaking her head, she realized it was a singular character trait that bonded her entire team together. The selflessness, the self-sacrifice, the willingness to run _toward_ the flames and screams, not away. Ladybug’s heart had overridden her sensibilities as her first thought had been to get Luka to safety; she only felt moderately guilty for favoring him knowing the other members of her team had already appeared and were working hard to evacuate the civilians.

She could tell he was hurt, though, and even now, as she circled the smoking ruins of the bullet train searching for a safe way back into the mess, her thoughts kept returning to her boyfriend and a deep-rooted desire to get him away from there. Of course, _boyfriend_ seemed like a stretch; even appending _casual_ to the sex they’d had was a bit hyperbolic, given how much time they’d spent apart over the past few months. Thoughts of Luka that had never been far from the surface had begun to become nothing more than fond memories or dreams when she slept, fantasies of a life that didn’t seem likely any longer.

Ladybug was so distracted she missed anchoring her yo-yo on a lamppost, a move she could normally do in her sleep; she was just regrouping to try and prevent dashing herself to pieces against the tracks below when a blur of green tackled her, enveloping her in a welcome embrace as they tumbled together onto a pedestrian overpass.

The bug-themed heroine smoothly rolled out of the tumble into a stand, but Viperion crashed into the stonework on the far end, uttering a string of curses from his heap of snake-themed limbs. If she’d needed any further evidence that he’d been hurt in the crash, his moans of agony cemented her worry that he’d rushed into the fight ill-suited to the task. Three quick strides and her lithe form was kneeling next to him, carefully rolling him away from the rock. 

“’Rion?” she asked carefully. “Are you okay? You landed pretty hard there.”

“Yes,” he replied as he tried to sit up; he grimaced and immediately gripped his side, then yelped again when Ladybug reached for his hand to help him up. “Maybe not,” he groaned. “I think my wrist is sprained, and maybe I injured a rib or something.”

Ladybug moved in front of him, and pressed his face between her gloved hands. His snake eyes looked at her in a vaguely unfocused way, and she nodded to herself. “How many of me are you seeing?” she asked.

“Ladybug, I just need a moment—”

“How many?” she asked forcefully in her Ladybug tone of voice.

“Two,” Viperion replied, then gave her that half smile that made her insides melt. “One if I close an eye.”

“That’s not very damn funny,” she breathed. “You have a concussion, snake. Stay here and wait; I’ll take care of you once this is cleaned up.”

“You need—”

“Not in the shape you’re in,” she said firmly. “Stay put.”

“I’m not a cat,” Viperion frowned. 

“Which is good,” Ladybug chuckled as she stood. “For they generally don’t do what I ask.”

Eliminating what was a rather resilient akuma and rescuing the civilians took the better part of the evening, even with the entirety of Team Miraculous at her disposal; Hawkmoth had always pushed the boundaries with what he’d thrown at them, but lately, the akumas had become exponentially more difficult to defeat. That wasn’t to say they were overmatched, for the team members had slowly begun to come into their full adult abilities as Miraculous Holders, but their opponent seemed to be learning with each encounter and tweaking the formula in his attempt to take them down – and _finally_ get his hands on her earrings and Chat’s ring. 

As she sent the final civilian on his way and fist-pumped her feline partner, he caught her gloved hand. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, those masked feline eyes of his full of concern. “I… couldn’t help but notice you were a bit off your game.”

Ladybug nodded, and smiled slightly at Chat and his empathetic tendencies. It was hard - but not impossible - for her to mask her true feelings around him, but seeing Luka so unexpectedly had lowered her defenses. Looking at her partner, she wondered how she had missed the chiseled jaw below those emerald orbs and the nearly Greek-godlike body barely contained within his skintight costume; clearly Chat was no longer the gangly teen she’d first met years earlier. Somehow, adulthood had found them both, and though she’d never tell him, she’d always appreciated how he’d continued to care deeply for her and her wellbeing despite having gone their separate ways romantically.

Sighing, she frowned just a bit. “My day job is a hot mess right now,” she replied. “And honestly? The last thing I needed was an all-night akuma attack.”

“You work too hard, Guardian,” Chat observed as he let her gloved hand go. “But I have a feline it’s something else,” he added more softly.

“Maybe it is, kitty,” she sighed.

“Can I do anything?”

“No,” she smiled again. “I just need a bit of downtime to regroup. If that makes any sense.”

“It does,” he replied, “and hopefully Hawkmoth will oblige. But if you need anything, I’m just a catcall away.”

“I appreciate that, Chat,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

Though he tried to mask it, the look on her partner’s face said he had his doubts, but he knew her well enough by now to let it go. Saluting, he extended his baton and disappeared into the inky blackness of the night; she paused for a long moment, thinking about everything and nothing before turning to check back in on Viperion.

Ladybug felt the weight of the years across the back of her shoulders and desperately wanted nothing more than a full-on spa day with all the trimmings. During their early time as a couple, Luka had pulled some strings with Jagged and landed her in the penthouse suite at Le Grand Hotel; he’d seen how worn down she was and had naturally assumed it was solely from her climb to the top of the fashion industry. While that was no small part, her secret life as a superhero was perhaps a larger contributor, not to mention the stunt Fu had pulled by saddling her with the Miracle Box years earlier.

In short, she was tired. 

Not that it had always been so; before Luka’s career had taken off, he’d been this quiet presence in her life, the soft voice in the room reminding her she was valued, loved, and making a difference in the universe. More than once she’d wondered if he suspected who her alter-ego was, but those eyes, while always dancing with merriment and compassion, never betrayed his true thoughts in that regard. Now more than anything she missed the way those moments with him, curled together on a couch as he strummed a thoughtful tune, had so wonderfully recharged her mental batteries.

Thankfully, Viperion was still on the pedestrian overpass pretty much as she’d left him; landing beside where he was laying against the stonework, she knelt once more. One look told her the Miraculous Cure hadn’t repaired his injuries, given how he was still clutching at his side. “I think we need to get you to an ER,” Ladybug said with clinical detachment, wondering for the millionth time why some things were missed by her legion of bug helpers. It was one of a trillion questions the untranslated Grimoire could likely answer, yet another task she had no time for.

The snake-themed hero started to answer, then saw the look of determination on her face before trying unsuccessfully to stifle a grimace from the pain. “There’s a hospital two blocks from here, and a park close by. If you set me down there, I can walk to the ER.”

“I should go in with you,” Ladybug replied as she carefully slid her hands beneath him and lifted him smoothly from the ground, thankful for the extra boost of strength transformation provided.

“No, I’ll detransform and then go--”

“It’s not up for debate,” Ladybug said firmly. “You can detransform on the way over.”

For a moment, she thought Viperion was going to argue given the way he’d set his expression; thankfully, he seemed to think better of it and simply nodded. “That works,” he replied. “But don’t even think of staying - Paris can’t afford you hanging around a hospital bed.”

“I highly doubt Hawkmoth will come at us again in the next few hours, ‘Rion,” she said.

“This would be the perfect time,” he countered as she leapt to the edge of the walkway with him. “You can’t afford not to be ready.”

Ladybug started to say something and then switched gears. “All right. I don’t want you to be alone, though. Can I call someone for you? Family? Friends?”

Viperion nodded. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” he gasped as something spasmed in his side. “If she’ll come.”

Tossing her yo-yo to the sky, Ladybug tried to hide her smile. “I’m sure she will.”


	3. Down for the Count

Luka quickly lost track of time once Ladybug entered the Emergency Room. His headache had increased to seven on the Richter scale, the pounding threatening to split his skull in two. Somewhere along the line, he felt a sharp prick in his arm followed by a gentle calmness washing over him, one so complete that the aches, pains and worries of his life drifted away as if tied to a garishly bright party balloon. Voices around him became muted, almost as if he’d been carefully wrapped in a layer of cotton; the last conscious thought he had was that he’d not been able to obtain that level of peace in weeks despite his daily meditation ritual.

His slumber was dreamless, though the gentle touch to the side of his face was what pulled him back to the here-and-now. Blinking away the vestiges of sleep, he found himself being observed very closely by deep blue eyes that had stolen his heart nearly the first time he’d seen them. The strawberry lips formed a smile - Luka was pleased to see only _one_ beautiful face -- and then opened to speak. 

“Hey, stranger,” Marinette said softly as she ran her hand up and brushed back one of the aqua-blue tipped bangs away from his forehead. 

Luka tried to speak and managed nothing better than a dry croak; Marinette shifted slightly and hit a hidden button on the side of the hospital bed, raising his head into a semi-seated position and giving him a better view of both her and the room. It was small, and dimly lit; the humming of equipment had him turn to see the small IV stand in the corner, topped by a heart and respiration monitor. Having no clue what any of the indicators meant, he turned back to Marinette, who produced a small plastic cup with a straw. Carefully, she helped him lean up a bit further so he could reach the tip. He pulled at the cool water with vigor, not realizing how dry he’d become.

“Go slow,” she said. “You’ve not had anything to eat or drink for a bit.”

Arching an eyebrow at Marinette, he paused slightly, swallowing to get his vocal cords working. “How… long?” he rasped, a bit alarmed at how his voice sounded. Clearly there would be no singing in the near future.

“A while,” Marinette replied as she held the cup up again.

Taking the hint, he took another long drink but not before noting the dark circles beneath her eyes, and the slightly unkempt nature of her bun. The rumpled clothes told him more than she ever would, and he immediately felt guilty - not just at what had to have been a multi-hour vigil by the woman he loved, but for everything else that had driven him to return to Paris in the first place to be with her.

The door to the room slid open, and a white-coated figure poked her head in. “Ah,” she said triumphantly. “Sleeping Beauty is awake!”

Though he knew his effect on fans - their gender notwithstanding - Luka had never thought of himself as particularly attractive; he started to say as much before realizing with a start the hospital gown was doing an extremely poor job of covering _any_ amount of bare skin. The front seemed to have an especially deep V-neck, ostensibly to allow the cables through to whatever was keeping tabs on his vitals; the upper part of the white bandage he could feel hugging his abs was just barely visible, too. He felt the flame of embarrassment on his cheeks as his gaze travelled downward, horrified that the thin white sheet was all that hid what what the gown could not. 

As the hand _not_ connected to the IV clenched protectively at the edge of the fabric, his heart skipped when he saw the Snake Miraculous was missing from his wrist. His dilemma had temporarily tuned out the conversation between Marinette and the doctor, but his attention snapped back when the resulting _bing-bing-bing_ on the monitor beside the bed immediately drew the doctor to his side.

“Now that’s a shame,” the doctor was saying absently as she poked at the console and frowned. “Never underestimate the power of a kiss, young woman.”

“Sound advice,” Marinette replied with a laugh.

Apparently satisfied that Luka wasn’t going into cardiac arrest, the doctor turned her attention to him. “I’m Doctor Shelbourne,” she said. “And you are an interesting patient.”

“I am?” Luka replied.

“Yes,” she nodded. “You arrived here with broken ribs, both a sprained ankle _and_ a sprained wrist, significantly bruised deltoid and from what Ladybug told us, were showing clear signs of a concussion.” Referring to her tablet for a moment, she slid her glasses to the edge of her nose. “You’ve been here for a full twenty-four hours now--”

Luka’s eyebrows went up in shock.

“--and I want to have you one more night for observation. But we’ve done about all we can for you. If you aren’t in any pain, or low levels of pain, I’m happy to discharge you so long as you abide by my instructions for recovery. And I’ll want to see you for a follow-up in ten days.”

Mentally going over his body, Luka nodded. As with the other Miraculous holders, he benefited from the quick healing ability that came with the jewel; he might not be running the rooftops of Paris that evening, but inside of ten days it would be like nothing had happened. “I can do that,” he replied.

“Do you have a place to stay? And someone to watch over you until then?”

Unconsciously, Luka’s eyes darted to Marinette’s. The former question had been weighing on his mind for the entirety of the train journey, for _technically_ he still shared an apartment with Marinette that had grand views of the Seine. He’d not been entirely sure she’d want him to stay with her, though, especially with him arriving unannounced as he had. Seeing her nod, though, he turned back to the doctor, a rush of relief sending his heart monitor a-bleeping again. “Yes.”

“We live together,” Marinette added, confirming what he hoped would still be the case. “I’ll take care of him so he’ll heal up properly.”

“Good,” Doctor Shelbourne replied. “I’ll check on you tomorrow before discharge.”

Luka waited for the white coated form of the physician to disappear before turning to Marinette. “I’m sorry to arrive like this,” he said. “I should have called first.”

“A little warning would have been nice,” Marinette replied before shrugging. “But it’s your home as much as it’s mine. I’d never have told you not to stay.”

The nonchalance of her statement stung. “You don’t need to nursemaid me, though,” he said after a moment. “I’ll just be sitting on the couch anyway.”

She looked at him. “Luka, you have two broken ribs and a sprained ankle. Like it or not, you’re going to need some help getting around for a bit. I was honest with the doctor: I’ll make sure you heal, regardless of where we stand with each other.”

And there it was, right out in the open. 

For a long moment, the two of them just stared at each other. Luka wanted more than anything in that moment to figure out how to use Second Chance and rewind time back to when he’d placed Marinette firmly in the center of his universe, but that reminded him his bracelet - well, all of his personal items, right down the his rings and the gauges in each lobe -- were MIA.

“Why were you on that train?” Marinette asked suddenly, pulling him back from plunging off his cliff of panic.

 _Could he be honest with her?_ he found himself wondering before chastising himself for even thinking it. They had always had that between them, short of the one necessary secret he held. “I came back to see you,” he said simply, watching her expression closely. “We left things… poorly… after that last FaceTime. I thought seeing you in person might be… wiser.”

Those gorgeous blue eyes narrowed. “I’m not entirely sure anything else needs to be said,” she replied slowly. “Or what you _think_ would happen were you to say it in person.”

“Marinette--”

“Luka, stop.” Marinette slipped off the edge of the bed, and he felt the rush of cold air on his exposed skin almost as an indictment. “We need to be realistic. This--” she waved her hands at the hospital room, “--is not going to change anything, is it? The two of us - you and I - have been on diverging paths for a while now. I’ve accepted that.” She paused, turning back toward him. “I thought you had, too.”

Feeling like his world was spinning out of control, and wondering if it was just the drugs still in his system creating that effect, Luka ran his free hand through his quite tousled hair. “I don’t think our song is over yet, Mari,” he said, looking away for a moment. “I don’t want it to be.”

Marinette was suddenly by his side, and, putting a hand to his cheek, turned his face toward hers. It had none of the gentle caress of earlier; no, this was steel, every bit as hard as the expression in her eyes. “You ended whatever music we played together ages ago, Luka. Whatever else you think of me, I am _not_ the kind of woman who will sit at home, pining away for love. Not when my spot within your heart has been replaced by another.”

Luka’s eyes widened. “There is no other woman,” he said flatly, anger flaring slightly.

“Did I say that?” she asked, shaking her head slowly. “It wasn’t a woman that displaced me - Hell, that might have been easier to deal with. No, you chose your career over us.” She paused, and her voice went even quieter. “Over _me_. Simple as that.”

“That’s not true,” he said, but the moment the words were out of his mouth, he could hear the lie himself. What was worse was seeing Marinette nod at his realization. It had been the one thing deep down that he’d been afraid of most - and he’d ignored what was happening as a result. 

“I’ll patch you up,” Marinette said quietly. “And then that will be that.”

Luka leaned back on the pillow and wondered how he had dug a hole quite as deep as he had. Something inside, something small and bright, burst into being at that moment, just as despair threatened to overtake him. Mentally he reached out for it, imagined carefully cupping it within the palm of his hand, and felt the warmth of hope. It was small, it was flickering as though it could go out at any time, and yet he knew in an instant just how to keep it burning.

For any fraction of a moment he had with Marinette was a chance to repair the damage. An opportunity to keep the woman of his dreams in his life.

“All right,” he said quietly, eyes closed. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she replied.

 _No,_ Luka thought, _you don’t truly know how sorry I am. Somehow, though, I’ll fix this._


	4. Adjustments

While she’d not quite gotten to the stage of packing up all of Luka’s belongings and putting them into storage, she had taken over his music room and repurposed it as her home design studio. His beloved instruments, the ones that were only used in studio recording sessions and nowhere else, had been carefully placed into the closet and therefore hidden from view; one less reminder for her of the absence of the man she’d once loved. Now she found herself repurposing the space once more, briefly transforming into Ladybug so she could move her desk and file cabinets back into the master suite more efficiently to clear the way for the rollaway futon Alya had offered up once the grapevine had spread the news that her boyfriend was back.

In truth, the physical work of rearranging the apartment was welcome, allowing her troubled mind to set aside (for the moment) the conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. There was no denying that some part of her had leapt in joy to think Luka had boarded that doomed train just to get to _her_ , but a larger portion pointed out he could have done that long ago. What had changed? Near as she could figure, it was the fear - well founded - that their relationship was close to if not already over.

It wasn’t lost on her that she’d mentally banished him from her bed. _Why?_ she wondered as she wound down her efforts and fed Tikki a cookie. _It’s nearly childish to force him to sleep in a separate room. But it does emphasize the break, doesn’t it?_

And yet, the largest part of herself kept coming back to thoughts of the two of them tangled up together, sweaty and breathing hard after a particularly adventurous escapade beneath the sheets. Contrary to what she’d said at the hospital, she had very much waited at home; it was only in recent days she’d even contemplated taking steps toward her own wellbeing, not that anyone was lining up particularly to be with her. Between work and Ladybug’s duties, she wasn’t exactly available socially.

The lie to Luka, though, had surprised her. Why was it important that he _think_ she’d moved on? Or, more to the point, why was she working so hard to convince herself she had, when clearly, _something_ was still there? And how in God’s name was that even possible, given how he’d treated her?

_Damn_ , she smiled wryly. _I could do this up until he waltzed back into Paris. Now I’m a quivering mess._

Tikki munched thoughtfully beside her as Marinette sat cross-legged on the couch; even after having her as a constant companion for years, she marveled at how long it took the small kwami to nibble her way through a treat. “What a day,” she sighed.

“Do you think it’s wise to have Luka here?” the red kwami asked, her expression typically inscrutable.

Marinette shrugged. “It’s still his home, at least until we figure out the details. And he won’t be here long,” she added with a smile. “His Miraculous will heal him right as rain in no time flat.”

Tikki _tsked_ at Marinette. “He needs to be wearing it for the quick healing to work,” she reminded him.

“True,” Marinette replied, glancing over to the kitchen counter and the clear plastic bag containing Luka’s personal belongings the ER nurse had given her. “He’ll get it back tonight when I pick him up.”

Clearly not convinced, Tikki decided to keep her own council and floated toward the master bedroom and, presumably, the Miracle Box where the other kwamis were holed up. She’d had to warn them that Luka was returning and therefore they needed to keep a low profile; frankly, she’d grown used to the hive of activity when the varied gods were flitting about the apartment and missed the company immensely.

_When had that happened?_ she laughed. _When did it become normal that tiny gods are a part of my life?_

Sliding off of the couch, Marinette wandered to the kitchen counter and picked up the clear bag, fingering the Snake Miraculous through the plastic. Sass had been quite reluctant to leave Luka’s side, which was completely understandable; those two had been together now for just about as long as Tikki had been in her life, and to be honest, allowing the kwami to remain had eliminated some portion of her guilt for not staying at the hospital herself.

Holding it up to the light, she wondered a bit about that - and what it meant - and then decided to shut down that whole line of thought before it consumed her. For she knew it would, and it just wasn’t something she was prepared to do. Not yet.

_I’ll fix him, and then I’ll deal with whatever_ this _is,_ she promised herself. _One miracle at a time._

Putting the bag back down, she took one last quick spin through the spare bedroom to ensure everything was in order before rounding up Tikki; while she still frowned on any members of the team using their powers for personal reasons, she was sorely tempted to break her own rule just to have a few peaceful moments to herself before dealing with what she was sure would be a week or two of roller coaster emotions. Marinette harbored no illusions as to what might happen while Luka recuperated; the real question was how would she handle it? And more importantly, was she ready for it?

Someone _other_ than Luka would likely try to energetically use the situation to work a reset on the relationship; while it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, she knew him well enough to expect something more subtle - and for her, it would be as enticing as the sandalwood cologne he routinely wore. Could she keep a clear head around him? Marinette knew herself well enough to say the answer was a solid _no_. At least, not without some additional mental preparation.

_So, Ladybug it is,_ she chuckled to herself.

Two bribery/apology cookies later, she transformed and slipped out onto the balcony facing the Seine, thankful once more that she’d talked Luka into a corner unit that provided reasonable cover for her to come and go as Ladybug. Tossing her yo-yo out with practiced ease, she set off in the direction opposite from the hospital after first determining she had about an hour to kill before Luka would be discharged. Years earlier, when she had chastised her partner about randomly transforming and roaming the city late at night, she’d been surprised when he’d told her it hadn’t always been for fun; the quiet nights, alone at the top of the highest buildings in the city had on many occasions allowed him to decompress from the burdens of both his civilian life and the horrors Hawkmoth routinely visited upon them. He’d gently encouraged her to try it.

Ladybug had scoffed at his suggestion and chided him for misusing his gifts; not long after, though, she’d been forced to see a future that, thankfully, would never come to pass followed closely by Fu being outed as Guardian (as a direct result of her actions) and passing on the Miracle Box to her. Crying over everything and nothing one night, Chat’s words had come back to her, and she flew out into a moonlit sky to try and get some sense of self back. That initial evening under the stars successfully proved the wisdom of his words; while she didn’t do it often, when she did, she’d found the solitude of the wee hours of the morning could refresh her soul and ready her to face whatever life tossed her way. 

Soaring over the city in mid-afternoon sunshine wasn’t quite as spectacular, but it still went a long way toward clearing her thoughts and focusing her mind on the task ahead. By the time she reached a quiet alleyway close to the hospital, she felt as ready emotionally as she would ever be and descended quickly into the dark safety where she could quietly resume being Marinette.

Luka was fully dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed when she entered the room, though his clothes looked worse for wear; a pang of guilt appeared that she’d not thought to bring him a proper change of clothes, despite having ready access to what little wardrobe he’d left behind. She recognized it as being out of character, and wondered if subconsciously she was trying to send a message. A slight shadow of stubble graced his chiseled chin and gave some impressive depth to his cheekbones, though she thought it did more to highlight just how tired he looked. The sling around his neck looked uncomfortable, but that was nothing compared to the panic that seemed to be in his eyes as he looked up at her arrival.

“Marinette!” he said. “They said you took my, uh, personal stuff--”

“Yes,” she said smoothly as she unzipped her purse and produced the small bag. She tried to look nonchalant as she handed it over to him. “I thought you’d want me to protect your wallet and phone.”

Luka’s eyes went to the bracelet immediately, and she had a second pang of guilt at how worried he’d obviously been about the Miraculous being out of his possession. While she’d known that Sass would have tried hard to assuage Luka’s fears, the clear relief on his face told her the kwami had been far from successful. Not that she blamed Luka; he had no way to know that Marinette was likely the safest person in the entire city to entrust that particular possession to.

“Thank you,” he said as he fumbled with his one free hand to try and open the bag.

“Here,” she said as she took the bag back from him and then doled out the items one-by-one, though she withheld his earrings and the bracelet, opting to slide the latter on for him first before reaching to each ear in succession to restore his trademark look. “That’s more like it,” she smiled as she stepped back, trying to ignore the intoxicating nature of his proximity. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he said as he slid off the bed. It wasn’t lost on her that his movements were more fluid than when she’d brought him in the night before; it was a small improvement, telling her there were indeed lingering effects of their quick-healing ability. If it hadn’t been hospital policy to remove all of his personal jewelry when he’d been admitted, Marinette was certain he’d be further along than he already was.

“Good,” she smiled as she took his free hand, ignoring the green kwami that quickly darted inside Luka’s torn shirt. “Are you ready?”

“More than ever,” he smiled crookedly in response, making her wonder at the potential for a dual meaning in his words.


	5. Soaking In

Luka had been surprised at Marinette springing for an Uber back to their apartment along the Seine, but in truth, he wasn’t entirely certain he’d been up to taking the Metro. Contrary to the image he was conveying to his girlfriend, everything _hurt_ , from his head to his pinky toes. Whether that was from the actual injuries he’d sustained from the train crash, or what it felt like when the quick-healing aspects of being a Holder kicked in, he couldn't be sure - especially since it was the first time he’d experienced either. Save for a few scrapes from skateboarding or typical around-the-boat injuries any kid would experience growing up, he’d never had so much as a single stitch.

The aches had lessened, though, and he wondered if that was more due to his temporary loss of the bracelet than him actually being fully healed. His wrist certainly still felt tender, as did his ankle, and deep breaths reminded him that a rib or two were still out of plumb. Thankfully, the double vision had been one of the first things to dissipate, though he wasn’t entirely sure he liked how that allowed him to fully appreciate just how thoroughly Marientte had cleansed his presence from her life as they entered the apartment.

Small things had changed, such as the placement of the couch facing the windows to the Seine, instead of against the wall, or the shifting of the flatscreen television to a low-rise table he’d never seen before, freeing up the wall for photos of flowers and landscapes and other warm vistas. New curtains of her own design in shades of pink and white had replaced the ones they’d picked out just prior to moving in together as a couple from the last remaining old-line department store. The only tiny reminder of what had once been was the lingering fragrance of baking, an indicator that Marinette still used the small joy of creating something from scratch to unwind at the end of a long day.

Still, Luka found he’d stopped just inside the entranceway, feeling like a stranger in what was his own home. 

“I’ve cleared a space for you,” Marinette said as she continued across the room and tacked left toward his small studio. “I had to borrow a few things to get it set up, though. I put fresh towels and the shower gel you like in the guest bath. I figured you would want to clean up...”

Luka lost track of the conversation as what Marinette was _actually_ saying registered. Somewhat naively he’d assumed everything would be as before; that she’d intentionally put him out of the master suite drove home just how much ground he had to make up. 

Regaining his motor skills, he started across the room before remembering to add a bit of a limp; he’d been able to put his full weight on the ankle for a few hours now, but knew it would look suspicious for him to be moving quite that easily so soon. Slowly, he followed her across the room and down the short hallway, then rounded the door to the very small guest room. A futon was already made up for him in one corner, and a small chest of drawers in garish colors sat beside it; a lamp that he thought Juleka had given them as a housewarming gift had been carefully placed atop a hand-sewn doily in the exact center.

There was no trace of his recording equipment, nor his prized collection of instruments; the awards he’d won over the years had been removed from the walls, which had been papered with a delicate fleur-de-lis pattern in soft gold and blue. Most striking of all, though, was the small chair in the corner, for it had the pillow embroidered with a double-heart (one pink, one blue-green) he had favored when lounging with her on their couch. It looked as forlorn and lonely as he was starting to feel.

Marinette caught his raised eyebrows and incorrectly assumed he was referring to the dresser. “Adrien apologizes, but his youngest insisted on a unicorn theme for her room when she was four. Kagami had stashed this in their attic with the intent of repainting it - though I guess it depends on what kiddo number three might want.”

Luka blinked. “Kagami… is pregnant again?”

Marinette smiled, but he thought there was a tinge of sadness in it. “You know Adrien. Growing up as a single child of a mostly absent parent had quite an effect on him - an experience he didn’t want his own kids to have.” She nodded at the bed. “Alya swears the mattress isn’t as lumpy as it appears, but her husband texted me it is.” Marinette looked back at him. “Best I could do on short notice; if I’d known you were coming back, I would have made other arrangements…”

“It was spur of the moment,” Luka replied.

Marinette smiled again, though it wasn’t as warm as he was used to seeing. “I’m sure.” Glancing to the door leading toward the small guest bath, she continued. “Are you going to be okay in there? Or do you need some assistance?”

Unbidden, thoughts of prior experiences with Marinette slowly running a bath sponge over his back while they stood together under the steaming hot water pouring from the showerhead raced through his mind, and he had to swallow - twice - before trusting his voice. “I think I’ll be fine. I might actually take a bath if you don’t mind.”

The smile was a bit warmer this time. “I thought you might. I left bath salts under the sink for you as well. Take as much time as you need,” she added as she stepped around him. “I’ll start something for dinner, but it will hold.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving him in the space, bewildered.

Closing the door, he leaned against it as he shrugged out of the sling; he’d not really needed it, but had wanted to keep up appearances for both the nurse and Marinette. Tossing it on the bed, he watched as Sass floated out from what was left of his shirt. “I didn’t realize she’s almost removed me from her life,” Luka said to the small kwami as he flexed his still-sore wrist. “This is worse than I feared.”

“Don’t give up hope,” Sass replied. “You’re here, aren’t you? With her?”

“In the guest room,” Luka mumbled as he undid his belt and stripped down to his boxer-briefs, wondering if it would make any difference if Marinette knew he was still wearing her line before tossing the skinny jeans onto the futon and padding to the bathroom in his bare feet. Sass opted to stay in the room as Luka leaned down to start running water into the antique-looking claw-footed bathtub. The water poured from the spout; as the steam-laden liquid began to rise, he went to the small sink and looked at himself in the mirror.

His hair was far more unkempt than normal; with the rigors of touring, it had grown out more than usual, and the blue tips needed attention, but not as much as the dark circles beneath his eyes and the temporary worry lines that had appeared around their edges. Running a hand along the edge of his jaw, he heard the rasp of the three-day-old dark stubble, something that would have to wait, since shaving gear appeared to be one of the few things Marinette hadn’t thought of. Luka’s eyes caught the scratched polish on more than one fingernail, mute witness to his attempt to open the jammed door on the train. Reaching down, he undid the clasp holding the pressure bandage against his torso and then slowly unwound it; dropping it to the floor in a pile, he ran a hand along the fading purple bruise, but could still feel the bump where the bones were slightly off. Another day or two, though, and it wouldn’t be but a trace.

Wiping down the now-steamed over mirrored glass with his bare hand, he stood back and turned slightly; black and blue marks were everywhere, denoting where and how he had tumbled through the train, though most were just as faded as where the ribs had nearly pushed through his skin. He shuddered slightly, for Ladybug had actually been right - he’d been far more injured than he’d let on.

Turning to the counter, he pulled open the door and found the bath salts in a small glass jar; they were sitting next to a more kid-friendly bubble bath, and he smiled slightly, knowing it was a brand favored by Alya’s eldest. “Aunt Marinette was babysitting again,” he murmured as he eschewed the salts and instead dumped a liberal amount of the bubble-gum smelling liquid into the hot water, swirling it with his hands to develop a robust layer of froth.

Sliding off the boxer briefs felt like eliminating the remains of his disastrous train trip; kicking them into the same heap as the bandages, he slipped one foot into the suds and then another before carefully lowering himself in, grimacing both at the aches as well as the temperature of the water. Luka dropped low enough to have the water lap at his chin, then used a toe to twist the faucet to off. Closing his eyes, he let the silence of the moment wash over him and allowed the warmth of the bath to push him toward a comfortable zen-like state. 

_What does it mean?_ he wondered. _This is our home and yet she has clearly started to remove all traces of me. I think I was right to worry after our last conversation_. 

Still keeping his eyes closed, he swished a little with a hand at the bubbles on the surface.

 _I’ve missed something, haven’t I?_ he thought. _There was something there in how she talked about our mutual friends. But more than that, she looks_ exhausted _. Damn it._

Popping his eyes open, he looked to the rivulets of steam that were forming and then slowly rolling down the mirror over the sink. He’d been right, then; leaving for Madrid had been quintessentially bad timing. And yet, Marinette had encouraged him to pursue his dreams, to reach for the solo career that was just starting to take off. Had he misread the signs? They’d talked about it repeatedly, the fact they both had careers and how important it was for them to pursue them.

Reaching for the sponge Marinette had carefully placed along the edge of the tub, he started to scrub, wondering if it were possible to get back to the layer of Luka that had once been totally in tune with Marinette. He doubted he had enough soap to get there, but set to his task with abandon. For that seemed like the only way for him to _start_ to understand what had happened to them. 

To _him_.


	6. Remembering

Standing in the middle of the small kitchen, it wasn’t hard for Marinette to replay the conversation they’d had before Luka departed for Madrid. She’d been in that very spot, making his favorite meal in a last ditch-effort to finally have the talk she’d waited perhaps too long to have with him. The ceramic casserole dish was just coming out of the oven when she heard the key in the lock of the door to their apartment and had smiled at the familiar sound of domesticity.

Marinette had known straightaway something was off, for his arrival held none of the normal excitement; he’d seemed at loose ends as he’d pulled off his satchel, set down his guitar case and perfunctorily dropped his keys to the apartment upon the small table she’d already gotten rid of. Grabbing a dish towel, she’d hurried around the edge of the counter as she’d wiped her hands, ready for their customary hug-and-kiss. What she found instead was a man who looked as though he’d swallowed a whole bottle of vinegar and chased it with a second.

“What is it?” Concern creased her face as she’d put a hand to his arm. “What’s wrong?”

Luka looked at her, and she saw something turbulent in those sensitive eyes of his. “I’m going to Spain,” he said simply before looking away from her, the requisite welcome home kiss forgotten.

She drew her arm back as if she’d touched something white hot. “We talked about this, Luka,” she’d said. “I can’t leave Paris.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said as he slumped over to the couch and threw himself on it.

“You’re not?” Rooted to her spot, Marinette had attempted to sort through her emotions. “So you’ll go _without_ me?”

“Jagged and I had a long, long discussion about it today,” Luka replied, putting his face into his hands and allowing his hair to fall forward over them. “He’s not wrong. If I want my solo career to solidify, I need to tour.”

“ _Your_ … career.”

“It’s only six months,” he’d continued, ignoring the tone in her reply. “It’ll be over by Christmas. Then I’ll be back.”

“Only to leave again.” Marinette had worked with Jagged long enough to have a solid sense of how the industry worked. But it wasn’t just that, for Luka had already been on the road himself for long stretches - some a week or more; with a start, she realized that Jagged had been prepping both of them in his own manipulative sort of way.

Luka sighed. “Probably, yes,” he replied as he twisted around to look at her. “It might take a full year to hit all the destinations my manager has in mind. And then maybe a trip overseas to the States.”

“That sounds longer than six months,” she’d said acerbically.

“Well, it wouldn’t be more than two years, but there are gaps when I could be back - or when you could join me for a much-needed vacation.”

“I can’t leave Paris, Luka,” she’d said again. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“Well, I _can’t stay_ ,” Luka replied, his head swinging up so he could look at her. “Jagged is right - I’ve done as much as I can in Paris. I need to get out there, expand my fan base. If I stay here, I’ll just wind up being that unknown studio player on someone else’s album.”

“That’s crazy,” Marinette had said, taken aback slightly. “Jagged became a worldwide sensation _from_ Paris. And with the web, you could cut videos like XY--”

“I’m _nothing_ like XY,” Luka said hotly.

“Luka, I wasn’t comparing you to him. I was just pointing out that touring isn’t your only option.”

“It is for me,” he’d replied tightly. “I’ve supported your career,” he added coldly, “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to return the favor.”

Marinette had found it increasingly difficult to keep her anger under control. “How can you say that? I’ve been with you every step of the way - right from your earliest moments with Kitty Section.” She paused. “We’ve always supported each other.”

“Then come with me,” he’d replied, those teal eyes of his pleading with her. “It wouldn’t be much at first - a long weekend here or there. Maybe you could take a sabbatical to recharge your creativity for a few months, or, Hell, just sell everything to House of Gabriel and retire from the industry altogether---”

“Sell?” she choked.

Marinette had felt her eyes widen, for the Luka she’d fallen in love with had long known that her company was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Walking away from it was not an option - not yet, not when she was barely thirty and was still brimming with marketable ideas. He’d known that, once. Looking at his blue-tipped mop-top, she wondered what had happened to _that_ version of her boyfriend.

But her company wasn’t the only reason she couldn’t leave; as Guardian, she had responsibilities far beyond running her business. Explaining that sacred obligation to Luka wasn’t possible, though, for that would have involved sharing the one secret she held above all others - even if he was her soulmate.

Swallowing back some of her anger, she crossed her arms, allowing the towel to drop to the ground in the process. “Are you seriously asking me to give up _my_ career for _yours_?” she asked icily. “Because that’s sure how it sounds.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Luka replied quietly, but she could see in his eyes he’d realized maybe he had. 

“It is,” she replied. “Not to put a fine point on it, you’re actually forcing me to choose between my career and my love for you,” she continued, choosing the angle he’d understand. “And I do love you. There’s never been any question about that.”

“Here’s the thing,” she continued. “I _would_ follow you anywhere.”

“Then come with me,” he’d said again, “leave all of this behind.” He slid off the couch and came to stand in front of her, putting his hands to her shoulders. “I’m watching what your career is doing to you, Mari. You could use the time off.”

Marinette stared at him. She couldn’t deny that the twin obligations of her business and being the Guardian were wearing her down, and a significant part of her was attracted to the notion of dropping everything and escaping with Luka. Who wouldn’t be attracted to that sort of escapist fantasy? But Marinette knew herself well enough to understand that while she’d enjoy it for a bit, it wouldn't be long before she’d feel the weight of her guilt for leaving everything she’d worked so hard for behind.

With a start, she wondered if that meant she didn’t love Luka _enough_. Enough to willingly subjugate her life to his. Maybe her understanding of what it meant to be in a relationship was flawed; after all, her only point of reference was what she’d seen growing up and then, years later, how her friends had paired off and become first couples, then parents. Nino and Alya, Adrien and Kagami, Nathaniel and Marc; at least from her perspective, they’d seem content to support their respective spouses in whatever direction they’d chosen to take their lives. It had helped her as Ladybug that none of them had left Paris, allowing her to keep them as part of her extended Team Miraculous. 

But now she wondered. Where had she gone wrong? 

Maybe she hadn’t.

“This affects both of us,” Marinette said after a few moments. “We should have discussed this before you agreed to anything.”

“I just assumed you’d--”

“ _That_ ,” Marinette said as she shrugged out of his embrace and knelt to pick up the forgotten towel, “was your first mistake.” She looked at him and saw the flicker of confusion before recognition appeared in his eyes.

“You won’t come?”

“No,” Marinette said as she moved back to the kitchen and took stock of the casserole that had cooled. Suddenly she was no longer hungry; she carefully folded the towel and put it by the dish, then moved around Luka to get her purse from the table. “I’m going out.”

He grabbed at her shoulder, forcing her to turn toward him. “We need to talk this through---”

“Not tonight,” she said briskly. “Unless you are leaving---”

Luka flushed.

Marinette gave way to the anger. “Seriously?” she said in a dangerously quiet voice that caused him to raise his eyebrows. “At least text me when you reach Madrid,” she’d added before exiting the apartment, allowing the door to slam shut behind her.

Snapping back into the here-and-now, Marinette realized she’d made the exact same dish and wondered why she’d done it. Picking up the casserole, she pulled open the trash compartment and dumped the entire thing, then stuffed the empty container into the sink to be dealt with later. Returning to the cupboard to look for alternatives, her thoughts drifted back to having emergency drinks with Alya and Kagami after she’d stormed out on Luka. The three of them were insanely close - though she often wondered if they’d be even closer if the other two had known they were also working for her as Ladybug. 

She’d managed to pull herself together emotionally thanks to the impromptu counseling session - enough that she’d felt comfortable returning to the apartment. In the end, though, she should have realized Luka would have read her just as always had, for she’d found the space empty; he’d known she’d need some time and space.

What neither had realized at the time was how little they would see each other - virtually or otherwise - afterward. Blinking, Marinette realized she’d been staring at the box of pasta for about ten minutes and sighed. She’d not lied to him earlier - after he’d left, she’d seldom eaten at the apartment and had as a consequence pretty much stopped shopping for groceries of any kind. If she’d known he was on his way back, she’d have picked up a few things. Or not. But that night, it looked like pasta with red sauce was all that was on the menu. The empty wine rack seemed to be mocking her on top of everything else.

Marinette looked up from the countertop cooktop when Luka had the grace to appear just as the noodles had finished; she saw he’d dug through the bags of his clothing in the guest room, donning dark grey sweatpants and lighter shaded hoodie with Jagged’s logo on it that was oversized just enough to hide the bandages swaddling his torso - or lack of them, if, as she suspected, his ribs had healed enough to no longer need the support. He was making an effort to look like he was favoring his sprained ankle, confirming her suspicions accordingly. She wisely decided not to point out he’d forgotten to put the arm sling back on.

Leaning against the door jamb, she saw he’d pulled his longer-than-normal hair back into a small ponytail, revealing more of his face than she’d seen since his return. She felt that usual flutter in her heart at the sight of him, though for some reason, the longer hair made him seem more alluring. “Something smells good,” he said companionably.

The dark stubble was hard to get used to, she decided, but seemed to accentuate how chiseled his features were. “Just a little stovetop goulash,” she replied. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor, so it pretty much was whatever I had in the pantry and fridge. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

She caught Luka stiffen at the word _visitor._ “Regardless,” he said after regaining some composure, “I’m sure it will be fabulous.”

“It’s ready if you’re hungry. Plates are in that cabinet over there.”

This time he did flinch. “Just like always,” he said softly, a gentle reminder that he lived there, too.

Or used to.

Swiftly stirring her pot, Marinette sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said at length as Luka pulled two plates out and carefully placed them beside her. “You’ve been away more than you’ve been _home_ ,” she found the need to explain. Ripping the bandage off fully, she plunged forward. “To be honest, you left me a long time ago. It wasn’t until our last FaceTime that I realized it.”

Luka looked like she’d slapped him. And maybe she had. “I would never leave you,” he said after a long moment. 

It was out before she could stop herself. “Haven’t you?”


	7. Setback

The bath had been restorative, so much so that Luka had lost track of how long he’d been in the tub. Long enough that the water had cooled to something above tepid, which for him felt much colder than that. Temperature changes affected him far more than they ever used to; when he’d first found himself intentionally seeking out the warmth of the main spotlight, or choosing the seat closest to the heater on the tour bus, he’d begun to wonder if his Miraculous had somehow subtly altered his civilian self. Much like the quick healing ability, odd serpentine characteristics had become more pronounced over the years; he could live with the desire to be warm, but he’d been caught off-guard the first time massive portions of skin had begun to flake off. 

One panicky call to Ladybug later, and several eyebrow raising hours on the internet learning more about his spirit reptile, he began to tick off which of the enhancements that he’d seen as Viperion that had blended into his civilian self (better sense of smell, ability to feel the slightest vibrations) and some of the less-desirable characteristics, notably the recurring bouts of molting. It wasn’t exactly the same, thankfully - going for a few days without vision would have been problematic - but Ladybug had recommended regularly exfoliating with a rough sponge to keep the episodes manageable. So far it had worked.

Still, as he pushed himself out of the soapy water and stepped out of the tub, wrapping a towel about his waist in a fluid motion, he could see the telltale signs around the fading needle and thread tattoo just above his heart on the left pectoral. The tour schedule had thrown his personal life into disarray, and that included his own self-care program. Twisting in the mirror, he figured he had one more shed before he’d need to visit yet _another_ new tattoo parlor to have the reminder of his love for Marinette replaced. 

Rubbing his hand over the stubble once more, he sighed slightly before gathering up his long hair and quickly tying into an informal knot; a bang escaped, framing one side of his face somewhat dramatically. Padding out into the bedroom, he looked forlornly at what was left of his clothes for a moment before wondering what Marinette might have done with what he’d left behind. Sliding the closet door open, he found his missing guitars and beside them, carefully stacked and labelled plastic totes. Smiling at the organizational skills of his girlfriend, he searched through them to come up with a pair of sweatpants and the oversized hoodie Jagged had rather randomly given him a year earlier during a recording session.

Underwear seemed to be the only item lacking, however. Not willing to inquire as to their whereabouts, though, he gamely pulled the soft fabric on and tied it at his waist. He wasn’t one to go commando, and found the loose pants made him feel strangely vulnerable; he wondered if it was more a psychological reaction to his situation with Marinette than anything else. Donning the hoodie, he took a long look around the room and felt the oppressive weight of the stone he was attempting to roll uphill.

Intuitively he thought he understood why Marinette was… well, she wasn’t exactly angry with him any longer, he supposed, more like in some sort of beyond-the-relationship stage, as if there were waypoints for when things fell apart. Leaving was the primary reason, no question, but as he looked at the space again and saw the indentations in the carpet for where something heavy had once been, he felt the pieces beginning to line up.

 _She used this as her own studio after I left,_ he nodded to himself as he knelt to look more closely at the square impression. Three other mates were easily found once you knew what to look for. _My stuff goes into the closet, and her stuff - her life_ , he corrected _, took over._

Standing, he looked at the walls more closely and saw how carefully coordinated it was, and looked again and saw the pattern in the wallpaper was completely hers. Somewhere in the back of his brain he remembered a half-listened to conversation, one where Marinette had told him she’d been experimenting in designs beyond apparel. He’d been deep into working on the very album that had taken him to Madrid, and as he was startled to remember, had not truly engaged during what could have been a romantic dinner with his girlfriend - one that she’d had to practically drag him away from the studio to attend. He frowned deeper at the realization he’d been more focused on a particular chord that just wasn’t working… and Marinette, bless her heart, had soldiered on, trying to get him to relax.

She’d known. 

Despite how he’d been treating her, she’d _known_ he was struggling with the music and had intentionally pulled him away from it to clear his head; what was worse was it had worked, for the correct chord popped into his head just as they’d returned to the apartment. What was _far_ worse? He’d left her stranded in the living room as he’d bolted to his mini-studio to get the chord into the music sheet. Moving into his area was a not-so-subtle rebuke, wasn’t it? A way for her to erase what she’d clearly begun to perceive as direct competition for her love.

It hadn’t been like that.

Or had it?

Maybe it had. In the months leading up to Madrid, he’d become laser focused on his music, and if he were truly honest, he’d allowed Jagged to schedule him on increasingly longer appearances. First it had been just a few kilometers from Paris, but they’d gotten slowly further and further away, taking him from Marinette for days and then weeks at a time. And he’d not talked to her at all about any of it, had he? He’d assumed she’d support him - and she had, at least initially. By the time Spain appeared, he’d convinced himself she was perfectly in tune with his plans, when instead he’d missed all of the little signs. Hell, his slightly-better-than-human senses had smelled that she’d carefully prepared his favorite dish that night he’d announced they were leaving for Madrid.

She’d wanted to talk about it and he’d blown her off. In fact, he tried to push her into his plan instead. The result had been an early exit from the apartment and an uncomfortable night on his sister’s couch. 

Clearly the bath had done what he needed it to do, for he felt like he’d finally begun to think more clearly about their relationship.

Sniffing, he could just pick up something savory warming up in the kitchen and decided he’d stalled long enough. He pulled open the door to the bedroom and carefully affected a limp as he padded barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen; the hoodie was large enough to hide the fact he’d not re-wrapped his ribs, not that Marinette was going to check. Luka was reasonably certain the futon was a good indication of his chances with respect to a more intimate evening. He snorted a bit that he was even _thinking_ about such things, given how he was still technically “injured” from the train accident; in theory, just walking should be an issue, so Marinette could be excused for assuming he’d not be up to an evening of mad, passionate sex.

Pausing at the intersection of the hallway and the living room, he caught her head as she moved deliberately through the kitchen and felt that same visceral emotional reaction to her he always had: he held onto it for a moment, trying to remember why he’d set it aside, for it had always been this pure, unadulterated love. Music was his life, to be sure, but Marinette had been much higher up the chart; at least, before. Before whatever he had become had taken over his life.

Limping across the living room, he paused at the edge of the archway leading into the open kitchen. Marinette looked up and smiled slightly. “Something smells good,” he said with a slight smile.

“Just a little stovetop goulash,” she replied. “I wasn’t expecting a visitor, so it pretty much was whatever I had in the pantry and fridge. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

Luka stiffened. _Visitor?_ he thought. _That’s how she’s thinking about this?_

Taking a deep breath - one that he realized his rib injury should have made impossible - he calmed his racing heart. “Regardless, I’m sure it will be fabulous.”

“It’s ready if you’re hungry. Plates are in that cabinet over there.”

It was a gut punch this time, and felt so physical that he nearly doubled over. She was as aware as he was that they’d bought those dishes together when they’d first moved in. That in their early days, he’d helped her wash them after a meal and carefully put them away in that very cabinet.

Luka couldn’t help his sharp response. “Just like always.”

Marinette looked down and made a show of stirring the red sauce as he slid two plates out and put them next to the colander with the draining spaghetti. After a long pause, she spoke again.

“I’m sorry,” she started quietly, almost as if she were venturing into an area she’d been avoiding. “You’ve been away more than you’ve been _home_. To be honest, you left me a long time ago. It wasn’t until our last FaceTime that I realized it.”

He felt his eyes widen. It took a long, long moment before he found his voice. “I would never leave you.”

Marinette looked at him directly. “Haven’t you?”


	8. Insomnia

_It had to be said._

That one thought had kept Marinette uncharacteristically awake long after the rest of Paris had called it a day. Despite the air conditioning, her room had felt sweltering, and she’d thrown off the thin sheet mere minutes after turning off the small lamp by the side of her bed. Dinner with Luka had been a tense affair, with neither of them truly willing to proceed beyond Marinette’s declaration. With a set of perfunctory good nights after washing up the dishes, they’d retreated to their opposite ends of the apartment, though it felt far more distant that the handful of meters it truly was.

Staring at the textured ceiling in the shadows, Marinette could _feel_ Luka’s presence in the apartment. It had less to do with how accustomed to being alone she’d become and more to do with one of those barely-quantifiable bonus senses that came with being Ladybug. Closing her eyes, she could nearly see exactly where he was in the spare room - and where he might be in a few moments, a talent that was particularly handy when she was concocting one of her Lucky Charms. Like her, he seemed to be restless, moving around the small room he’d been banished to; it was almost as if he were a trapped animal, searching for a way out of his cage.

She smirked inwardly. _Or a trapped snake._

That told her something - maybe she’d hit closer to home than she’d realized. But did it matter?

Clearly, since she was awake, it did. 

But why?

Sliding off the mattress, she moved to the balcony slider and quietly pulled it open; the blast of hot, humid air was an unwelcome reminder that summer had not released its grip over the city. Within moments of leaning over the wrought iron railing, her t-shirt began to stick to her uncomfortably; still, the slight breeze brought a modicum of refreshment along with the sounds of the city still hard at work even at that late hour. There was solace in knowing the world continued around you, and she pulled some peace it provided into her tortured soul as she looked out across the Seine. 

Marinette felt Tikki appear by her shoulder and smiled. “I’m okay,” she said preemptively.

“You forget how long I’ve been with you, Marinette,” the melodic voice of her kwami said softly. “I did warn you about bringing him here.”

“True,” she sighed. “It was a mistake, wasn’t it? Opening wounds I thought had healed.”

“It’s never a mistake to learn from the past,” Tikki said cryptically.

Marinette turned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Only that life seldom gives you second acts. And when it does, to make the most of it.”

“This isn’t a second act. I’m not even sure we’re through the _first_ act.”

“Why did you bring him here, then?” Tikki asked sweetly.

“He needed a place to heal.”

“Luka is a holder,” Tikki replied patiently. “His injuries will be but a memory in a day or so.”

“I wasn’t going to leave him in the hospital!” Marinette said tightly, turning toward her kwami. “And the staff would have grown suspicious if he _had_ stayed and been able to walk out as if nothing had happened.”

“Luka would have hidden it from the nurses. You’ve seen what he’s done just in the short time since he’s arrived.”

Marinette felt her face flush, for Tikki was right; Luka took his duties as a holder seriously and would have made an effort to protect his alter-ego. A flame of anger that she’d even thought that of him burst into life. “Well, I didn’t want him to be alone.”

“He still has family here in Paris, Marinette. Why not let him go there?”

“Because this is his _home_ ,” Marinette nearly thundered. “He belongs _here_.”

Tikki smiled at her outburst. “Exactly,” she said softly before slowly floating away from her holder.

Marinette felt her jaw gaping as she watched Tikki phase through the door, amazed yet again at how well her constant companion _did_ know her. As only the kwami could, she’d deftly drawn out of her the core issue.

_This is his home._

_He belongs_ here _._

_I_ want _him here. But keeping him here means he has to sacrifice_ his _career,_ his _dreams, the very things I was the most upset about myself. And, dammit, I want nothing more than to tell him to stay - to drop everything and be with me._

_And I know I can’t bring myself to do that._

So there it was. There was no question she was upset about how Luka had placed his career above their relationship; what rankled her was the thought she would be doing the exact same thing were she to ask him to stay. And she knew without question now, she _desperately_ wanted him to stay. Sliding down against the cool wrought iron into a seated position, she finally allowed herself to admit the truth: she’d known _why_ Luka was on that train the moment she found him. He was coming back home. Back to her.

Marinette had closed herself off from even thinking that could be a possibility, and perhaps had actively fought against it without truly understanding why. Now she did; as the cool breeze wicked beads of sweat from her forehead, she knew that accepting that meant allowing him to put his dreams on hold. Even if he was doing it willingly, she couldn’t do that to him.

_There had to be a middle ground, didn’t there?_ she asked herself. _Some way we can make this work? Hell,_ she laughed slightly, _I’m frigging Ladybug. Of course we can find a way to make this work…_

The universe chose that moment to prove to her that it eavesdropped constantly, as the unwelcome sound of the tri-tone akuma alert from her phone pierced the closed balcony door. On instinct, Marinette shot to her feet and was through the door, grabbing the phone from her nightstand. Hawkmoth appeared to have unleashed another akuma on the Louvre - she’d lost count of how many times the glass pyramid had been destroyed over the years - and as she quickly scanned the report decided it would be another all-hands call to the team. That gave her pause, though, and her eyes darted in the general direction of Luka’s room.

While they’d been together, she’d perfected her ability to slip out of the space without waking Luka when the random overnight akuma had struck; that evening, though, she was torn. There was a better than average chance her boyfriend would want to help, which made timing her exit a bit tricky. Thinking she knew what he was going to do, she quickly slid back into her bed and pulled the sheet over her. She’d barely turned toward the still-open balcony window when she heard the faint footfalls along the hallway toward her door.

Hiding a smile, she slowed her breathing and waited.

The door to her room opened, and she heard him whisper: “Marinette?”

She tried not to frown, for he’d actually already transformed - his voice had the slightly altered quality they all got after transformation. It was a huge risk for him to have done that, for exposing his secret to a civilian was an immediate ticket out of Team Miraculous.

After a moment, Viperion appeared satisfied that she was asleep and gently closed the door; Marinette sprang out of her bed and tiptoed to it, pressing an ear to the wood to catch the faint movements of the superhero as he sprinted to the guest room. It had no balcony, but did sport a sizable window; as it faced away from her balcony, there was no way for her to know if he’d successfully exited without transforming herself.

“Tikki,” she said softly, “let’s go find that damn boyfriend of mine before he gets into trouble.”

Her red kwami appeared, wearing a strange smile that Marinette didn’t understand right away; only after the pink-and-white flash of transformation had washed over her did she realize she’d somehow changed how she’d begun to refer to Luka mentally.

_My boyfriend._


	9. Line of Fire

The akuma alert was a welcome respite from restlessly pacing the guest room, and before he realized what he’d done, Luka had called out to Sass and transformed into Viperion. He’d been so eager to do _something_ that it wasn’t until his gloved hand had opened the window preparatory to leaping out into the night that he’d stopped to think he might want to both check on Marinette and somehow cover his departure.

In what Ladybug would have thought a huge breach of protocol, he’d silently snuck down to her room and verified Marinette was still fast asleep; dashing back to his room, he locked the door after he re-entered, arranged the pillows to make it seem as though someone _might_ be on the futon, and then hurled himself out into the sky well aware none of it would stand up to scrutiny of any kind. He had to hope his girlfriend would respect his privacy and not enter while the door was locked.

While they’d been together, he’d gotten good at sneaking away from Marinette in order to join the battle with Ladybug; many nights he’d covered his absence with a set of special musical tracks making it seem like he was working on something, when in fact it had hidden his departure through that same window. Somewhat amazingly, it had worked over and over again, though looking back on it now he wondered seriously if Marinette might have thought it was part of his sidelining of their relationship. For the first time he wondered if his efforts at keeping his Miraculous secret had also contributed to his problems.

Setting those thoughts aside, he pulled himself up the side of their building, wincing slightly at his still tender ribs; his wrist didn’t complain as much as he would have expected, but when he pulled himself over the edge of the roof and landed on his ankle, he let out a little gasp. It had felt far better on the carpet, lulling him into a sense that it was fully capable of bearing his weight. Now, as he tentatively started to jog in the direction of the screaming and smoke, he found himself favoring it more than he’d expected. Gritting his teeth, he vaulted across an alleyway and landed, hard; the ankle held, but hurt like Hell. Hoping he wasn’t doing any permanent harm, he prayed that his quick healing would repair whatever additional damage he was inflicting upon his body.

Viperion landed at the edge of the courtyard surrounding the main entrance of the Louvre; the smoke appeared to be coming from a hole about where the glass pyramid had once stood. Smiling wryly, he thought about how all akumas seemed to enjoy taking out the landmarks of Paris and wondered if in itself it was a form of subtle revenge by Hawkmoth. Scanning the area, he caught the flash of metal and zeroed in on the streak of black that was Chat Noir as he landed on the far side of the courtyard. A moment later, the red-and-black form of Ladybug dropped out of the sky next to him; he was too far away to hear anything, but could easily see they were quickly conversing. Chat nodded and leapt away into the darkness.

Ladybug then looked up and caught Viperion; a moment later, she’d crossed the space and landed beside him. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she said. “Are you fully healed?”

“Yes,” he lied easily, trying to defuse her concern with a crooked smile. “A nice side benefit to being--- _holy shit--_ ” he cried out suddenly as pain shot through his side.

“That’s what I thought,” Ladybug said sternly as she withdrew her hand. One quick press to his injured ribs had blown his cover story to bits. “Go home.”

Trying to get his breathing back under control - no easy matter given how intense the pain had been -- Viperion pleaded with Ladybug. “You might need me. I should be here.”

“You are no use to me being injured,” she said. “Go _home_.”

“Ladybug--”

“Go. _Home_.” Ladybug stood. “I won’t ask again.”

Swiftly she turned her back on him and disappeared into the night; Viperion stood there, torn between his duty to Ladybug and her express command. Reluctantly, he swiveled and slowly started to make his way back toward the apartment building, though he didn’t get further than the edge of the Louvre itself before Carapace landed on the tile in front of him.

“Dude,” Carapace smiled as he stood up. “I didn’t know you were back! Ladybug said you were away.”

“Just donned the mask again a few days ago,” Viperion replied smoothly as he fist-bumped the turtle.

“What’s going down?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” Viperion answered honestly, before pointing to the smoke. “It seems obvious where we should go, though.”

“Sounds good.” Carapace dashed down the roof, and making what was sure to be a boneheaded decision, Viperion followed him; they leapt side-by-side off the edge and landed in a crouch beside the gash in the courtyard, eyes watering at the acrid smoke billowing through it. “Can you see anything?” Carapace asked.

“No, but there aren’t likely to be too many people in the museum at this hour. Maybe some night guards or IT folks.”

Carapace nodded. “Ladybug and Chat are probably already down there. C’mon!”

Viperion hesitated as the turtle swiftly flipped over the edge before doing the same; he was shocked to see the once-impressive main entrance to the museum reduced to piles of rubble and pockets of flame. Vision seriously blurring at the smoke, he tried not to cough as they slowly moved further into the hellish landscape. Wishing he’d actually followed Ladybug now, he tried to divine where they had gone. “If I were an akuma,” he asked over the crackling of the flames, “why would I want to destroy this museum?”

“Something against art, maybe? Or history?”

“History,” Viperion suddenly said with certainty. “They always hit the--”

“Egyptian exhibit!” Carapace cried. 

The two heroes started to run through the smoke, pushing their way deeper into the fire; they had to have guessed correctly, for the closer they drew to the famed Ancient Egypt retrospective, the worse the destruction became and the more intense the flames felt. Rounding the final corner, Viperion skidded to a halt next to Carapace -- trying not to yelp out loud as his ankle turned -- when they saw what they were up against.

Straight out of a myth from ancient times, a three-meter-tall minotaur was slowly circling the small space in front of the massive sarcophagus of some long-dead pharaoh Viperion couldn’t remember. Chat Noir was across from it, claws out; his baton seemed to be gone, and to the snake hero’s surprise, a massive gash ran diagonally across Chat’s chest. As long as he’d been a holder, he’d never seen a costume’s magic breached by anything Hawkmoth had thrown at them.

What was worse was that Chat was clearly bleeding.

Carapace had seen it too, and let out a blood curdling howl as he tensed to leap into the fight; instinctively, Viperion turned up his bracelet and pushed back the snakehead, crying out as he did so, “Second Chance!”

The world took on the fuzzy haze of time distortion he always got when his superpower was active, and he waited but a moment before leaping after Carapace, landing on the far side of Chat. The minotaur stepped back slightly, tensed, then suddenly lowered his horned head and drove it straight through Chat’s torso.

Viperion didn’t wait to watch the feline superhero’s lifeless body drop to the ground before he slid the snakehead back and found himself standing beside Carapace again. “Give me your shield!” he cried out before Carapace had a chance to move.

Long used to strange commands from their time-twisting companion, Carapace tore off his shield and tossed it to Viperion as the two of them leapt in beside Chat once more. Tensing, Viperion waited for the minotaur’s movement and then dove sideways, holding the shield out in front of Chat just as the strange beast tried to impale him once more. Though the horns drove cleanly through the shield, it was just enough to slow the bull that Chat easily dropped and rolled away; Viperion landed, hard, and twisted just out of the way of the stampeding animal, rolling further to wind up next to Carapace and Chat.

“Where’s Ladybug?” Viperion asked. This close, he could see the exposed skin around Chat’s mask had gone white; looking down, he wondered how much blood the superhero had lost. 

“She’s… trapped,” Chat gasped, breathing clearly difficult. “That thing got lucky.” Holding up a claw, he pointed to the sarcophagus; only then did Viperion see one of the stone pillars had collapsed against it, making it impossible to open the lid. 

“It was open?”

“Lure…” Chat gasped again. “Museum… guard…”

Viperion nodded and looked over to the minotaur; it was ignoring them for the moment, trying to prize off Carapace’s shield against the sharp edge of a display case. They had a few precious seconds before it would turn its attention back to them. Looking to the rubble, he turned to Carapace. “We need Cataclysm, and then you’ve got to get Chat out of here.”

The turtle nodded and quickly worked with Viperion to slide Chat into a classic firefighter’s carrying hold; as efficiently as they could, they crossed to the sarcophagus, Chat painfully calling for his superpower as they neared. As they drew closer, he could hear the frantic banging on the inside of the stone. Leaning down with Carapace, Chat managed to reach a hand out far enough to touch the rubble; it turned to ash as his eyes rolled back and he slumped against Carapace.

Quickly they shifted his inert form so Carapace could carry him over his shoulders and then he was gone in the swirling smoke; gripping the edge of the stonework, Viperion grunted as he tried to pry open the case, well aware the minotaur had finally pulled the shield off its horns. Curling his gloved hands, he felt himself making dents in the stone as he yanked once… twice… on the third try, with a massive groan at the effort, the stone slid open and he fell backwards.

Ladybug burst out of the case, carrying a small woman clad in the uniform of Louvre security; without saying a word, she leapt from rubble pile to rubble pile, her intent to get the civilian out of danger clear. In an instant Viperion knew what to do.

Pulling his lyre off his back, he leapt onto another pile of rubble directly in the line of sight of the beast. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done a solo concert, but it _was_ one where the stakes were higher than getting a bad review. Thankfully, he had magic as his house band, and as he strummed the small instrument, he felt a tune so blissful appear out of nowhere, the notes so true, that his audience of one immediately stopped in its tracks, dazed by the moment of Zen he was weaving.

He tried hard to ignore the hellish landscape around him as he continued to strum.


	10. Desperate Measures

Ladybug continued a string of un-ladylike curses as she fruitlessly leaned a shoulder against the unmoving stone of the sarcophagus lid, thankful in a small way that the civilian she’d ducked in to save was out cold and therefore not a party to her fury. Hawkmoth had used one of his oldest and most effective tricks in the book; it hadn’t helped that both she and Chat had recognized it, for as Hawkmoth was well aware, the safety of Parisans was their highest priority. Still, forewarned normally meant forearmed, but in this case, the minotaur akuma had outflanked them by ramming it’s massive bull head into the stone pillar before Chat had been able to react. The resounding finality of the _thud_ when the stone slid shut behind her had been disquieting to say the least, though for a brief moment Ladybug finally understood why Adrien had been so eager to get out of the cramped space all those years earlier.

_Mental note_ , she thought grimly as she tried to shove her now bruised shoulder against the cold stone yet again, _don’t stash anyone in small stone spaces in the future._

Muted sounds of the battle raging beyond her prison made it hard for her to gauge how it was going, but the rising stench of smoldering museum materials did filter through, enhancing her anxiety. A quick check of her ward had not revealed any injuries, but the fact the guard was unconscious when she found her was worrisome on its own. Despite whatever was happening beyond the six inches of stone she was trapped behind, her first priority remained getting the museum guard to safety and, perhaps, medical attention.

Lifting her yo-yo, she wondered. _Do I waste a Lucky Charm to get us out of here? If so, what? A crowbar? There’s no way to get any leverage… Damn, damn, DAMN!_

That last jolt of anger seemed to transfer directly into the stone, for she felt it slide - not much, maybe a centimeter or two, but enough that a rush of adrenaline flowed into her next shove. Slowly, the stone slid a few more centimeters, enough that a sliver of filtered light appeared. A bit more, and she caught sight of green-gloved fingertips, wrapped around the edge of the stone; they were gripping the edge hard enough that small grooves had been driven into the stone. 

_God-DAMN Viperion!_ she thought. _He’s hung around Chat too long. Of_ course _he’d still be here._

Setting aside her new source of anger, she leaned in further, and felt the stone move substantially. Swiftly, she leaned around the inert form of the guard, picking her up in one arm while she readied her yo-yo, timing her moment; emitting a grunt loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of the burning exhibit, Viperion heaved one final time. The stone slid off completely and Ladybug immediately leapt out of the cramped space, hooking her yo-yo to what was left of a light fixture in the process. One yank and she soared over the smoking ruins, around the corner and dropped into a run in the hallway. 

Peripherally she was aware that Viperion had done something to attract the attention of the beast but set that aside as well; knowing the Louvre as well as she did, Ladybug quickly found the first emergency stairwell she could and used her yo-yo to pull herself and her precious cargo up to the roof in a fluid movement borne from years of practice. Shifting her cargo slightly, she burst through the door and ran toward the edge facing the main courtyard of the museum; through the smoke, she found her luck was holding, for first responders were already there at the edge, setting up a triage area for injuries on one side, while the firefighters frantically hauled hoses and other paraphernalia toward the hole where the pyramid had once stood.

Leaping over the edge, she ran as fast as she could while carefully holding an inert adult over her shoulder, though her steps faltered as she approached the set of stretchers the EMTs had arrayed close to their vehicles. Owing to the late hour, she’d assumed the museum had been mostly empty, but there were a half-dozen civilians in various states of distress being looked over; she wasn’t a medical professional by any stretch, but had unfortunately seen what chaos Hawkmoth could wreak over and over again. It nearly always infuriated her when she saw injured civilians, but her heart skipped a beat when she realized one of them had feline ears atop a blood-matted mane of blonde hair.

_Chat?_

The knot of dread in her stomach wrenched tighter when she caught Carapace standing by the stretcher.

Shoving her concern for her partner into a now very crowded part of her brain, she focused on the task at hand and located an open bed. “I found her unconscious,” Ladybug said in a perfunctory manner to the EMT that appeared at her side. “I didn’t see any obvious signs of injury.”

“We’ll take it from here, Ladybug,” the EMT replied; Ladybug only caught in passing as she was already moving toward Carapace.

He had his back to her as she approached and put a gloved hand to his slumped shoulder; Carapace’s body attitude nearly told her all that she needed to know, but she forced herself to look at her partner on the gurney. What skin was visible beneath the mask on his face was as white as new fallen snow; the lips a pale thin line. The angry gash along his chest - deep and oozing red - stood in stark contrast to the clean lines of his costume, and set Ladybug back a bit emotionally; she didn’t have to be a doctor to know he’d lost a lot of blood. A trio of EMTs were working to pack the wound with gauze and field-stitch the gash up enough to staunch the last of the flow. 

“It went through his costume…” Carapace said before his voice broke. “How…?”

Ladybug felt herself starting to descend into something close to despair and shook it off. Donning her mantle of command, she squeezed Carapace’s shoulder. “Stay with him. Protect his Miraculous - this is _exactly_ the kind of moment Hawkmoth might try to use to his advantage.”

“Ladybug--”

“I know I can count on you,” she said softly. “This is the most important assignment I’ve ever given you: protect Chat. The rest of the team is already en route, we’ll handle whatever that is down there.”

Hearing the support in her voice - or, at least she _hoped_ it sounded like support and not desperation -- Carapace straightened slightly and nodded. Patting him on the shoulder again, she turned and immediately ran back toward the smoking ruins of the museum, trying hard to push away her own fears and insecurities. Seeing Chat had rattled her, badly; the costumes were supposed to make them essentially invulnerable, though it hadn’t stopped the occasional bruise or twisted ankle. It was with some relief that a friendly face in the form of Rena Rouge dropped down beside her and paced her.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rena apologized. “I’m running out of reasons to give my parents when I need them to take the kids in the middle of the night. I sent Carapace on ahead--”

“He’s here.”

“--good,” Rena finished as they stopped at the edge of destruction. “Holy Hell,” she breathed as she waved away the smoke.

Despite everything, Ladybug smiled. “That’s about what we’ve got down there.”

“Who else made it?” Rena asked as they flipped over the edge and landed among the rubble of the visitor center. 

“Viperion is distracting the akuma,” Ladybug replied as they tore across what was left of the marble flooring and up a stairway, then down a hallway, smoke choking their lungs as they ran. “At least, that’s my hope. Chat’s been seriously injured, so Carapace is looking after him.”

“How bad?” Rena asked as she pulled Ladybug to a stop.

Ladybug tried to push away the fear again. “Bad enough,” she said after a moment before continuing their run. “I put out the general call, but that’s it so far,” she added, wondering if indeed any of her other Team Miraculous members would appear.

“They’ve never failed you,” Rena reminded her as they rounded the final corner to the Ancient Egypt exhibit.

“True,” Ladybug said.

Hanging at the corner of the archway, Ladybug peered around the edge and down to what was left of the exhibit and gave up a silent prayer of thanks to any and all kwamis. Viperion was still perched atop a mountain of rubble, serenely strumming on his lyre; the minotaur, despite the billowing smoke and glowing flames all around them, had settled down into a cross-legged seated position and was rapturously watching every little move the snake hero made. She started to breathe a bit easier when she saw King Monkey off in the corner, tensed with his staff; Ryuku was on the far side, and as she watched, called up Dragon Water to continue her work dousing the flames closest to her. Pegasus was closest to them, and flipped down from what was left of a glass enclosure.

“Viperion’s been at it as long as I’ve been here,” he reported succinctly. “Seems to be keeping the beast rather mellow, but I’m not sure how much longer it will last. ‘Rion looks a bit exhausted.”

Ladybug flicked her eyes over to Viperion, and though he did seem to be in the flow of the music he was creating, his drawn features told her he couldn’t keep it up indefinitely, adult powers notwithstanding.

_Damn_ , she thought. _I’m running out of time in more ways than one. And without Chat, I’m going to need to be creative to dislodge the akuma, but first…_

“Pegasus, we need to get this thing as far away from Paris as we can. I need a safe spot with hardly any population, preferably outside the range of Hawkmoth’s control.”

“Got it,” he said as he tilted his head; she knew from how long she’d worked with him he was accessing the nearest online system to locate something for her.

Turning to Rena, she continued. “Viperion and I will take it through the portal; once we’re on the other side, close it and wait for my signal before you retrieve us.”

Rena started to object. “Ladybug, if you get into trouble---”

“We won’t,” she said with confidence she didn’t have. “I need you guys to hold down the fort until I get back. Clean up what you can, but above all, protect Chat! When I return, the Miraculous Cure will restore the worst of the damage.” _And, hopefully, Chat, too_.

“Are you sure?” Rena asked.

“Yes,” Ladybug replied, turning to Pegasus. “Got something?”

“I think so. A nice, but small, island in the Carribean. It’ll be early evening.”

“That will work. Get ready,” she said as she jumped over to Viperion. 

He didn’t break stride, asking as he strummed, “What’s the plan?”

“A bit of Pied-piper to lead this thing away from Paris,” she replied. “Pegasus is about to open the portal, can you convince this thing to follow us through?”

“Yes,” he said, and she could immediately hear the music change slightly. 

Looking down, the minotaur seemed to stir, and followed Viperion as he carefully climbed off the rubble, strumming his lyre without missing a beat. Ladybug was close behind them; as they reached the rubble-strewn marble floor, she heard the portal zap into existence behind her, and even smelled the gust of salty ocean air as it rushed into the chamber. Carefully, she stepped backwards; one step, then two. Viperion was in front of her, and carefully coaxed the beast to follow them.

Something under her foot crunched, and Ladybug looked down to see she was on a sandy beach strewn with shells; it seemed even darker, which she supposed it would be given they were far, far away from any metropolis. Five steps, then six and she was easily three meters onto the island. 

_Come on… come on!_ she cried out in her brain as she pulled at her yo-yo, readying it. _A little faster, Viperion… that’s it… one more step…_

The portal sizzled shut, revealing the darkness of the ocean beyond the beach; her eyes quickly adjusted to what little light the star-studded sky provided as she and Viperion continued to back their way up the beach. Sand gave way to dune grass that gave way to a broad swath of palm trees; they slowed at that point, for it started to become evident that the minotaur was becoming unsure of itself. 

“Do you think we’re clear of Hawkmoth?” Viperion asked just above his music.

“I hope to kwami we are,” she replied as she began to search for a possible hiding location of the akuma. Admittedly there were few invisible places, given the amount of bare skin being shown by the akuma, but she quickly focused in on a small pouch of some hardened material hanging by a cord from the loincloth the beast was wearing. Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been a coin purse, or, now that she thought about it, the small exterior pocket Scottish men wore with their kilt. 

_What did they call it?_ she thought. _A… sporran? Sounds right, and I think it’s my winner._

“I’m going for the akuma,” she said as she stepped around Viperion and spun up her yo-yo.

The snake-themed hero simply nodded and serenely continued to strum. The exhaustion was plain to see now, Viperion having decided it wasn’t worth hiding it any longer now that he was alone with Ladybug; up to that point, he’d manage to disguise how much the magic was costing him, and she began to worry if it would set back his recovery from the earlier train injuries.

Turning back to the beast, she quickly shot the yo-yo out and nailed the sporran, rousting it out of the musically induced stupor. Viperion kicked his efforts up a notch and she danced sideways, hitting the pouch from a different angle; on her third try, the exterior cracked slightly, but not enough to emit the purple quarry she was after. Despite being cut off from Hawkmoth, the minotaur seemed to sense the danger Ladybug’s yo-yo presented, and began to shake off the effects of Viperion’s efforts; two more times she scored a direct hit on the pouch, cracking it open further, but the beast had begun to move as well.

Sweat began to trickle down her mask, stinging her eyes as the humid caribbean air became more oppressive than the summer they’d been experiencing back in Paris. Darting left, then right, she started to lose track of time as she kept at the pouch, hitting it repeatedly. Landing on a sand dune, she wiped her face with the back of a gloved hand before leaping out of the way of a running attack, realizing belatedly that the strange boots of the akuma gave it more friction against the sand. Her soft soles were no advantage in that situation, but she kept at it, dancing away from one attack, then another; a lucky swipe from a horn gashed a tear in her upper left arm, easily parting the costume and exposing a thin welt of blood.

“Damn,” she swore out loud before leaping away again. Unlike the beast, she was starting to wear down and knew she had at most two or three full-powered yo-yo attacks left in her; clearly the music was no longer working, so she was running out of time.

Vaulting over the top of the minotaur much as the images she’d once seen in history class, she landed just behind the beast, her feet squishing in the wet sand left damp by a receding wave. Spinning up her yo-yo again, she leaned down and tensed as the minotaur turned. It was just the right angle, exposing the pouch perfectly to Ladybug. Quickly she hurled the yo-yo at it, scoring a direct hit with enough force that it finally cleaved in two; the akuma fluttered out, but didn’t get far before she’d nabbed it with the yo-yo.

“Bye, bye, little butterfly,” she said tiredly as she unzipped the yo-yo and released the purified insect; as it floated away, she watched as the purple wave washed over the victim, exposing a very ordinary looking tourist, albeit clad in traditional Scottish attire, right down to a kilt and knee-high socks.

“Where… where am I?” he asked as Ladybug moved to his side.

“Safe,” she said, unaccustomed to taking her partner’s traditional role as consoler-in-Chat. “You were under the influence of some dark magic, but we’ve released it. What’s the last thing you remember?”

The somewhat older man flushed slightly. “I… was arguing with the ticket agent. I’d bought timed access to the exhibit but was late for my window… they turned me away…”

Ladybug tried not to frown. _Really? A member of my team is fighting for his life because you were upset at missing the opportunity to see a dead pharaoh? God-Damn-Frigging-Hawk--_

“It happens,” she tried to smile, “isn’t that right, Viperion?”

The silence that greeted her ears jolted her, for only then did she realize it had been a while since she’d heard the music. Ignoring the akuma victim for a moment, she turned to find Viperion was not behind her, or anywhere close for that matter. “‘Rion?” she called out as she started to run back up the beach. “Viperion?”

Panic flowed into her as she increased to a sprint. “Viperion?” she yelled out as she snapped on her flashlight in the yo-yo. Pausing for a moment at the base of the dune she thought he’d been at, she wondered if she’d managed to run more than a kilometer away from the portal’s spot; she couldn’t be sure in the darkness.

Swinging her light across the sand and the dunes as she ran, she continued to call out for the snake hero; she’d just turned to run back toward the akuma victim when the light caught something sparkly.

The lyre was wedged sideways in the sand, as if it had been dropped.

Bolting up the beach, she dropped to her knees beside the prone form of Viperion and rolled him over; training her light on him, she tried to roust him. “Viperion! Goddammit, wake up!”

Shaking him harder gained her nothing; pressing a gloved hand to his neck, it took way longer than it should for her to find a pulse, but when she did, it was weak and thready.

“Wake _up_!” she cried out angrily. “Don’t you _dare_ leave me again! You hear me! Not like this!”

The snake-themed hero didn’t respond.


	11. Sublime Acceptance

He wasn’t quite sure when he realized he’d become conscious once more.

Maybe it was the whispered snippets of conversation around him, or the feeling of being gently lifted off of whatever rather gravelly surface he’d been laying upon; still, he felt so world weary he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Everything ached, he decided, including an odd spot between his shoulder blades, yet Viperion had no recollection of being hit there. Or had he? Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter.

None of it did.

He drifted away again, toward the most comfortable feeling he’d ever experienced; sighing internally, he somehow knew  _ this _ is what it would be like to live inside of pure joy. If that was how the afterlife began, it seemed promising, though as he reflected further, Viperion wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to leave his life. Or at least this most recent version of his life, for somewhere along the line his alter-ego had started to wonder if he’d been down this pathway before at other times; while he wasn’t quite into believing reincarnation was possible, it certainly explained how drawn he felt to Marinette. They had to have been together at least once before, if not repeatedly throughout history. As he settled into the cozy embrace of whatever plain of existence he was experiencing, it all seemed so logical, though a tiny part of his brain reminded him some portion of this line of reasoning might have been influenced by his long-lived kwami.

_ Marinette… _ he thought.  _ I’m so sorry! This isn’t how I thought it would end. _

He did wonder why he was thinking like Viperion. At the end of the day, he was still  _ Luka _ , buried beneath a layer of magic. For years now he’d only adopted the superhero persona while transformed; was it because he’d died while transformed? That made him wonder -  _ could _ he die while transformed? He’d seen how badly Chat had been hurt and thought it was likely. More than he had a day or two earlier.

_ I hope he’s all right, _ he thought, sorting through the memories he had of fighting side-by-side with the feline superhero.  _ We had a good run. I’m sad to leave you - all of it - behind _ .

Something cold brushed across his lips - or what his brain told him  _ had  _ been lips, back when he’d had a physical form. He wanted desperately to wipe it away for some reason, but couldn’t get his arms to move. Not that he had arms, either, he supposed. The coldness appeared again, and this time lingered; it was followed quickly by an overwhelming metallic flavor that washed over him as if he’d dunked his head into a vat of liquid mercury - though how he had any idea what mercury tasted like was beyond him. Nevertheless, he was amazed to feel himself start to retch and try to expel the foul liquid from his imaginary mouth - from his avatar throat, where it sizzled all the way down into his faux stomach. And yet, the sensation of being forced to imbibe the substance remained.

Viperion’s masked eyes snapped open as he spluttered and coughed up something, then tried to push himself up to vomit whatever it was he’d just drunk. As he retched and the acidic bile-laced concoction burned it’s way out of him, he was vaguely aware he was just a few inches away from dirt - no, that wasn’t right; his snake senses corrected and firmly informed him it was  _ sand _ , now damp from his acrid vomit.

A gentle hand was on his back. “There will be another wave,” Ladybug said softly. “But I need you to take a bit more if you can.”

More senses came back to him: the scent of salinity, the melodic tones of the surf gently washing and then retreating away from him, utter darkness save for the twinkling of stars and the gash of the galaxy running across the sky. He turned and could barely see Ladybug, but nodded and then felt her press a small vial into his gloved hand.

“Down the rest all at once.”

He nodded again and pressed the cold metal to his lips, and grimaced as the foul metallic taste flowed across his enhanced taste buds. Viperion tried unsuccessfully to stifle the automatic revulsion but lost the battle, twisting from Ladybug once more to allow his stomach to turn itself inside out. It didn’t take long, but he waited a moment longer before wiping away the remnants with the back of his gloved hand. Only then did it finally dawn on him he was most definitely alive, and most definitely still transformed.

“How long…?” he asked, his voice raw from the bile.

“About four hours,” she replied gently as she pulled him toward her. “I told you to go home,” she admonished, but there was no heat to her statement.

“You needed me.”

“I did. But you overdid it. Whatever you called on to run your lyre took everything you had and then some. I wish you’d told me you were on the edge.”

Viperion pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, trying to eliminate the throbbing behind them. “It’s the first time I’ve done that,” he said honestly. “I didn’t know it was part of my powers. My adult powers,” he hastened to add.

She surprised him by putting an arm around his costumed shoulder and pulling him into her. “You were pulling on emotions, I think; strong ones, too. They have been known to create magic where none existed.”

Viperion started. “I might have, yes,” he said softly, realizing that Ladybug’s insight was completely accurate. “My personal life is in a bit of a shambles at the moment. There’s plenty to mine there. And since the lyre seems to key on my mood when I play it, it makes sense it tapped a new source of energy.”

“Considering how long you lasted,” Ladybug said with a trace of irony, “it must have been a deep reserve.”

He coughed. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

“You want to talk about it? We have some time before Pegasus re-opens the portal for me.” Ladybug laughed slightly. “I’m not as patient a listener as Chat, just to warn you.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Viperion chastised. “I’ve seen you with akuma victims.” 

“Thanks, but I’m not Chat.”

Viperion tried to laugh and wound up retching again, surprised that he had anything left to bring up. “What the Hell is that stuff?” he asked.

“Healing Lucky Charm,” Ladybug said, and he heard the trace of surprise in her voice. “I managed to make two: one for you and one for Chat. Before you ask, yes, he’s doing better - as long as he behaves and lays low for a few days. Advice I remember giving someone else recently.”

He felt fortunate the darkness hid the flame of embarrassment on his cheeks. “You needed me,” he replied lamely.

“That excuse is only going to get you so far,” she laughed. “Maybe this time around you’ll listen?”

Not wanting to give up the point, though, Viperion pressed. “You can create a healing potion? As a Charm?”

“Apparently,” she replied. “I admit, it was a desperate ploy, but between the two of you, I was most definitely desperate.” Hugging him for a moment, she added quietly, “I’m glad it worked. I only wish I’d known I could do it when I found you on the train.”

“Me too.”

“So… why are you overwrought?”

Viperion hadn’t wanted to, but before he knew it, he found himself telling Ladybug everything - from the first moment he’d begun down the slippery slope of focusing on his career to the final disaster of the FaceTime call just a few days earlier. The more he talked, the more he  _ wanted _ to talk, to explain himself and his feelings, where he had gone wrong, how guilty he felt about the pain he’d caused Marinette; his dilemma about how to fix it figured prominently, too. As the sky began to lighten with the impending sunrise, he could see how intently Ladybug was listening, where she was nodding in some spots or shaking her head in others. Gently she prodded him onward, coaxing every last ounce of emotion he had left out. Suddenly he began to see her as a Marinette proxy, and very slowly came to the conclusion that without saying so much as a word, Ladybug had quite expertly given him the answer for his way forward.

“I should just talk to her,” he said softly once he’d run out of steam.

Ladybug nodded. “Just the way you did to me. Tell her  _ everything _ . I think you’ll discover you each might be closer to the same solution than you realize.”

Viperion arched a masked eyebrow. “Are you  _ sure _ Chat is the better listener?” he asked.

“Oh absolutely,” she laughed. “Why else would he have four ears instead of two?” she added as she stood and put out a gloved hand to help him up. “Come on, the portal is about to open. You need to get home before your girlfriend realizes you’ve not shown up for breakfast.”

* * *

Though he’d not asked her, based on the lack of devastation when they exited the portal near the Louvre, Viperion assumed Ladybug had managed to cast her Miraculous Cure somewhere during the period he was lying senseless on a beach in the Caribbean. Though he was still not feeling one-hundred-percent, he smiled to assuage the concerned faces of the other members of Team Miraculous that had decided to be there when he walked through with Ladybug; Chat was the only one that was understandably not present. A quiet farewell-until-the-next-akuma and then he was racing across the rooftops toward his apartment, well aware that as far as the sun shining over Paris was concerned -- and the clock on his snake phone - it was close to eight and well beyond time to have appeared for breakfast.

The snake-themed hero managed to stay in the shadows and sneak back into his room unseen, slowly closing the window against the oppressive early morning heat. His room had become like a toaster oven, with the air conditioning laboring to restore some normalcy; before dropping his transformation, he tip-toed to the door and quietly opened it; to his relief, there was no activity in the kitchen, nor could he feel any vibrations from Marinette moving around in her room. It did strike him as odd that she was not up, though, given it was a weekday and by rights she would need to be at the office. 

That made him smile a bit as he closed the door, for now that he thought about it, when  _ had _ Marinette ever been on time for anything? Releasing Sass, he wondered if he would shortly hear her panicked footsteps as she attempted to pull together breakfast, lunch and her briefcase. In better times, he would have been out there, helpfully getting her organized for her day; maybe he would again.

His eyes fell on the bed, and he decided sleep was not what he needed; looking down, he realized he was still wearing just the sweatpants from the prior day and decided a nice long, hot shower was in order. Padding barefoot into the bathroom, he left the door ajar slightly and then slid out of the sweats before stepping up and into the claw-footed tub; this time, he pulled the curtain around before engaging the faucet and then the showerhead. Somewhat fortunately, it was high enough to clear his tall frame, and he leaned against the tiled wall, allowing the water to beat down upon that one spot between his shoulder blades that hurt like hell.

It took a moment for him to realize he only had new aches and pains; his ankle felt completely normal, and his wrist was no longer tender when he twisted it. The ribs still ached, but those, too, were more of an echo of what was. Closing his eyes, he let the water heat up to a temperature Marinette would never appreciate, and slowly felt the tension ease. Speaking with Ladybug had been a blessing, he decided; she was right, too. When they had first gotten together, the two had shared openly and honestly; somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew they could do that again. Not only that, for the first time he felt like he was prepared to accept whatever transpired as a result. 

After talking with Ladybug, though, he was feeling both more open to alternatives - and optimistic they would find one.

The hot water worked it’s magic, moving him into a pleasant half-aware state; he was so wrapped up in the sensation of the cascading liquid he didn’t initially catch the curtain being pulled back until one of rings snagged a bit and scraped. Startled, he turned his head at the noise only to become more flummoxed. For there was Marinette, wearing nothing but a smile as she carefully stepped into the tub behind him. “Mari--?” he spluttered. “What--?”

“Shhhh,” she said softly as she moved up behind him and carefully turned him back toward the water, then pressed herself against him so she could wrap her arms around his midsection. “Just let this moment  _ be _ .”

However hot the water was, the heat from Marinette’s skin against his back sent paroxysms of desire shooting through his body; there was no way he could hide what her presence was doing to him, and he was flooded with all sorts of emotions. Half of him desperately wanted what he thought was happening; no, it was far more than that. But where they had left it -  _ how _ he had left it with her - some small part of him felt like this was a  _ huge _ mistake, one that could set him back in his efforts to fix his relationship. 

“Mari,” he said, his voice still hoarse from his earlier bouts with the Lucky Charm potion. “Are you sure--”

He gasped when she gave him her answer.

It had been so long since they’d been together, just her touch alone sent him over the edge, and he found himself leaning his forehead to the cold tile of the wall as he shuddered repeatedly. As he tried to recover some semblance of his humanity, she ran her fingertips lightly along the edge of his torso, and that buzz of excitement instead went up to another level. In a swift move he twisted around and fiercely pulled her toward him, then pressed his lips to hers. His passion was met with even deeper passion; her hands dug into his hair, curling around the roots as she gently pulled him down and nearer to her. Luka returned the favor by cupping one side of her pleasantly rounded backside and pressed her ever closer, suddenly desperate that there never be any space between them again.

The cascading hot water erased all sense of time and space as he rediscovered every square centimeter of her perfect body, from the tips of her ears to the smallest toe on each foot. He lost track of how many times he made her cry out with joy; how she managed to tease one reaction after the other out of him reminded Luka of those phenomenal nights beneath the cool sheets of their bed they’d once enjoyed together. His connection to her, this thin gossamer thread that felt like it was electric and alive, suddenly burst into being, once more reminding him of his deep, spiritual connection to the woman he’d willingly give anything to be with for the rest of this life, if not any others he might be blessed to have in the future.

How he had missed this!

How had he  _ ever _ set Marinette aside?

Somehow, they wound up on the carpet of his room, tangled together in the sheets from the futon, watching the midday sun as it snaked its way across his massive window. Luka was on his back, with Marinette’s head upon his chest, her untied hair surrounding her like a wave. They were both awake, somehow, despite the marathon that had left Luka pleasantly tired - and more alive than he’d been in months.

Not entirely willing to spoil the moment, he risked it anyway and gently kissed his girlfriend on her forehead. “Marinette,” he asked quietly. “What just happened? And why aren’t you at your company?”

She sighed and looked up at him, and for the first time in a while, he saw her love for him in those deep blue eyes. “A reminder, I guess? Of who we are, and what we are to each other? I’ve been thinking a lot about us over the past couple of days, and I guess the train crash kind of put everything into perspective. It just took me a bit to figure out how to tell you.” 

Luka found himself smiling. “I’d planned on saying something like that to you today. But I have to admit, your version was far more… demonstrative… than anything I’d thought of.”

Marinette smiled wider. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words,” she reminded him gently. “And to answer your  _ other _ question, I took the day off. Owner’s prerogative.”

He nodded, a bit sadly once he realized the deeper meaning in her response. “I’m so very sorry,” he said as she pulled her into a brief hug. “I have never wanted you to give up your career for me.”

“Same here,” she replied. “And yet there we were, both fixed in our positions and feeling the anger at the other for not giving an inch.”

Luka nodded again. “What happened to us?”

“Life,” she said softly.

“That’s too cynical. Too trite.”

“Too true. And you know it.”

Luka started to reply and realized she was right, as usual. “So what do we do now?” he asked. “Your song still plays in my heart - in my head - with every breath I take. I cannot live another moment apart from you.”

She pushed back a bang that threatened to hide his eye. “I feel the same way, Luka. But at the end of the day we have the same problem still: you have your career, and I, mine.”

“No we don’t,” Luka said.

Marinette sat up. “You’re not quitting your musical career. Not over me.”

“No,” he smiled as he brushed back her bang. “But I think I’ve figured out a way I can do both. You might need to meet me halfway, though.” He paused as he gently ran a finger along her cheek. “Would you be willing to do that?”

Marinette looked concerned. “Yes, but you’ll have to convince me it won’t hurt your career.”

“Okay,” he smiled slyly as he carefully turned toward her. She let out a small yelp of surprise as he gently brushed a hand across a most delicate spot before continuing. “Then let me begin to convince you.”

Marinette gasped again and arched her back for good measure. “You have my undivided attention…”


	12. Proper Normalcy

“Four times in three months,” Chat observed as he tilted his mane and gave her his slyest of sly smiles. “This feels a bit like our new normal.”

Ladybug was struck by his statement; had it really been nearly a quarter of a year since the train accident that had landed Luka back in her life permanently? Slowly she started to nod her head as she realized it had been, and found herself momentarily lost in just how much had changed in so short a period.

“Yes,” she said after a lengthy pause, “I suppose it is.”

“How long _this_ time?”

Chat’s tail twisted merrily, the teasing underscored by his trademark grin as he sat with Ladybug on a rooftop overlooking the broad openness of Trocadero Plaza and the Eiffel Tower beyond. His antics back in the day used to be infuriating, but now, they just endeared her partner even more to her. “Don’t judge, kitty. A girl has to have some time off every now and then.”

The feline superhero’s masked eyes narrowed in good humor. “I’ve been telling you that for _years_ , Milady. I’m just happy you’ve finally listened - if not to me, to that mysterious boyfriend you refuse to allow me to meet.”

“I don’t want him to get jealous,” she replied with the old joke. The two of them had long ago set aside whatever romantic feelings had once existed between them and settled instead into a deep friendship that meant the world to her. Still, as much as she cared for Chat, he wasn’t Luka and all that he represented to her. It had taken a long time for her to realize that.

“With good reason,” he said as he flexed for her. “Look at these guns.”

“Chat,” she rolled her eyes. “ _Seriously_. You’re almost thirty.”

“But deep down, I’m just a little kitten.”

“Don’t I know it,” she laughed as she stood. “Usual rules. Anything comes up, you’ll reach out immediately?”

“Absolutely. You can trust me with the city.”

“I know I can,” she smiled. 

Chat moved to leap away and then paused, his green feline eyes catching hers. “I couldn’t be happier for you,” he said softly before gently kissing her on the cheek. “Enjoy your time away with Mystery Beau.”

Chuckling, Ladybug caught his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, kitty. See you in a week.”

They parted ways and she took off for the second meeting of the evening, mentally reviewing her checklist as she moved through the moonlit night. The first few times she’d ventured away from Paris with Luka, she’d been a nervous wreck; his plan, though, had been sound, for he’d managed to book his concert dates around meetings with her European clients. Normally she would have done them via teleconference, but her brilliant fiancé (she was still getting used to that upgrade in their relationship) had convinced her face-to-face would solidify her business relationships. It had certainly worked for him in the music industry, and within a few months, she’d discovered it had applied equally as well to her company.

 _Fiancé_ , she laughed as she came down on a rooftop close to Le Grande Hotel. _If you’d told me a few days after that dreadful FaceTime I’d have not only salvaged my relationship, I’d be marrying the SOB, too, I’d have said you were nuts._

But it had happened on a moonlit night overlooking the Danube in Germany just a few weeks earlier. And she’d said yes without a second thought, for spending the rest of her life with Luka was exactly what she intended to do. Ladybug still had a few issues to work out, of course, not the least of which was how much longer she could keep her dual identity a secret from Luka; somehow, though, she intuitively knew it would happen when it needed to happen, and not a moment sooner. 

Sighing, she settled in to wait, for the second half of the trip planning required another visit with a different hero; right on schedule, Viperion appeared on the horizon, and a moment later dropped in beside her.

“Ladybug,” he smiled. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Of course,” Ladybug replied. 

As she looked at her fiancé, she wondered who had ultimately charmed who; from where she was sitting, the answer seemed a bit unclear. Then she realized it didn’t really matter, for whatever it was, in the end their magic had finally worked. 

And for that she was forever grateful. 

“So,” she asked with a pleasant smile, “how long this time...?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering this was supposed to be a short one-shot for the LBSC sprint challenge, thank you for hanging with me for a far longer fiction chock full of emotion. It was fun to do, and yes, I did build in some wriggle room for a follow-up...


End file.
